


Ashes to Dust

by LaurelSilver



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Apocalypse, Dark Magic, Death, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, German speaker, Horror, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Long character list, Magic, Magic Creatures, Multi, Original Character(s), Swearing, Time Travel, Torture, long story, sex references, war references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 65
Words: 82,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After flashbacks of angsty nostalgia, Ivan is replaced by Nikolai; his second player counterpart with much more drive and much less friendly childishness than Ivan, but shares his goal of making the world become one with Mother Russia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ivan; Gift of God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redd Scarf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Redd+Scarf).



> Based on an RP I had with my friend 'Redd Scarf' which lasted over a year. Redd Scarf was Ivan/Nikolai and I was only meant to be Ludwig, but it escalated.  
> There are a few canon and original characters, and I will try to describe them as best I can.  
> I also get quite sarcastic at times. Sorry.

“Germany! I have some terrible news!”  
Ivan Braginski, otherwise known as Russia, bursts into Ludwig’s office, startling the tired German and knocking a stack of papers over.  
Ludwig sighs, vein in his forehead twitching and pulsing, “What is this terrible news?”  
“Italy is our only ally!” Ivan says, cheery smile dropped in worry, “What are we supposed to do?!”  
Ludwig pauses, thinking, “Make sure we have pasta,” he says, “And kitchen cleaning supplies, but the pasta is a priority. And hide the grenades!”  
“What about his brother?” Ivan asks, cheery smile returning.  
“Lock him in a crate and send him to Antonio,” Ludwig says simply, “Make sure to give him plenty of tomatoes so he doesn’t starve, and a few bottles of wine so he’s too drunk to kill Antonio when the stupid Spaniard lets him out. And gottverdammt, keep him away from the grenades!”  
“Can’t we just kill them?” and smiles should not be able to get that wide.  
“Ah… no, Russland, if they are our allies we have to treat them as such,” Ludwig explains slowly, “There will be no killing.”  
“But I’m not your ally,” Ivan says innocently.  
“What?”  
“I may or may not have lied. You must be tired, Germany, if you forget your allies so easily.”  
“What?” Ludwig blinks, “Allies? Ich hab' mit der Fiend verbrüdern! Out, verdammt, out! Get out of my house before I shoot you!” he pulls a Luger out of the drawer under his desk, loaded and meticulously clean to ensure immediate hitch-free fire.  
“Your fault!” seriously, that smile gets any wider and his lips will be touching his ears!  
“Well, if you’d told me you were…” Ludwig trails off, too tired to argue as stubborn and dangerously intelligent as Ivan, “You said Italy was becoming ‘our’ ally! As in you were an ally to the Fatherland! You tricked me!” the gun clicks as Ludwig pulls the hammer back smoothly  
“The Motherland was allied with the Fatherland until the Fatherland tried to invade the Motherland, and then we had to separate,” Ivan says cheerily, “The poor kids.”  
“You invaded Gilbert!” Ludwig snaps back.  
“We shared Feliks!” and that smile gets even wider. How fucking strong can that guy’s cheeks be?  
“True,” Ludwig admits, lowering the gun idly, “But Feliks, of course, preferred to stay with you so he could see his boyfriend, I mean Toris, verdammt Gilbert und deine porno.”  
“Da, Toris is Feliks’s boyfriend in the same way little Feliciano is your boyfriend,” Ivan says with a creepy giggle.  
“I only let him sleep in my bed because he gets nightmares,” Ludwig snaps, “That is all!”  
Ivan sighs, smile falling slightly, “Germany, become one with me like Prussia did.”  
“Gilbert never became one with you, you just took over!” Ludwig snaps, raising the gun again, “Du bist ein Arsch, get out!”  
Ivan skips off, slamming the front door loudly behind him, and Ludwig collapses back into his chair.  
A few days later, Feliciano comes squealing and crying into Ludwig’s office with “A super scary letter and somebody’s going to kill me, save me Doitsu, Doitsu!”  
“Feli, calm down!” Ludwig snaps, “And stop calling me Doitsu, I’m German gottverdammt! Give me that letter.”  
Feliciano hands him the paper. A daunting patch of blood stains one corner, the handwriting is small and spiky, and the paper stinks of vodka.  
“If you do not become one with Mother Russia, I will make each of your friends and allies disappear until you have no other choice but to submit to Russia, starting with your little boyfriend Italy. The North one, obviously. ^J^”  
“Braginski!” Ludwig howls.  
“Da?” Ivan pops up at the window, and Feliciano jumps into Ludwig’s arms, screaming at the top of his voice.  
“I know this is you, Russland!” Ludwig waves the paper at him, Feliciano clinging to his torso, “The paper stinks of vodka, there’s blood in the corner, and you’re the only person to use that stupid J-emoticon.”  
“My emoticon isn’t stupid!” Ivan protests, halfway through the window.  
With an angry sigh and gritting teeth, Ludwig lifts up the window to allow Ivan through. “I am not becoming one with anyone, Braginski, Germany is and always has been an independant nation.”  
“Liar!” Ivan says with a creepy, knowing smile, “You became one with Italy!”  
“Ve~” Feliciano snuggles into Ludwig.  
“No I didn’t!” Ludwig snaps, blushing angrily, “Okay, yes I did, but I was drunk! Stupid Canadian beer.”  
“So you’re not going to kill me?” Feliciano asks warily.  
“Not yet, no,” Ivan says innocently, and Feliciano screams.  
“No!” Ludwig barks at Ivan, and Feliciano’s wails escalate, “I will kill you!”  
“Bring it,” Ivan says, smile widening, “I’ll just win like I won World War 2!”  
“You only won because you abandoned me for the Allied Forces!” Ludwig snaps.  
“Because you broke our pact,” Ivan says calmly, “Just think; if you’d never tried to invade me, we could still have had that pact. Think how different history would have been.”  
“It would have been broken anyway,” Ludwig says bluntly, “The pact was between Germany and The Soviet Union, and that’s disbanded. But you’re right, things would have been much different.”  
“We could have taken over the world together, little Ludwig,” Ivan says, “But no. Such potential wasted.”  
“In my defense, it was Hitler who invaded you, not me,” Ludwig says, carrying Feliciano, now calm, into the living room, Ivan following,“He may have been a great speaker, but he was an awful listener. It was his orders carried out, not mine, and would he listen to the nation with hundreds of years of experience, fich nein!”  
“Sometimes following our leaders is not the right thing to do,” Ivan agrees.  
“You don’t need to tell me,” Ludwig sighs, putting Feliciano down in an armchair and prising the olive arms away from his torso, “But we don’t get an option, do we?”  
“At least you’ve got your friends,” Ivan says bitterly, sitting down on the couch by Feliciano, “I had to invade my friends to get them to be allies with me.”  
“Forcing people to be your friend won’t make them your friend,” Ludwig sits down next to Ivan, “It only makes them your servant.”  
“I tried to be friends with Mongolia, Denmark, Sweden and Prussia by negotiating with them but it never worked,” Russia says, curling into himself.  
“By 'negotiating', what exactly do you mean?” Ludwig asks, “Because threatening, talking about torture, or glaring/grinning creepily do not come under 'negotiating'.”  
“Well, like Prussia; after I defeated him I wrote him a letter, asking him to become one with me.”  
“He’d just been defeated, humiliated, by you,” Ludwig deadpans, “Why would he want to be your friend after that?”  
“Because I am Russia,” Ivan says with a stare.  
“That is not a sufficient reason!” Ludwig snaps, hairs on the back of his neck standing upright.  
“I warned him about the ice,” Ivan says innocently.  
“Ja, then strangled him,” Ludwig retorts.  
“It’s okay. I got to take him over, so everything’s fine.”  
“No, it’s not fine! And I took him back! And stop staring like that! That’s one of the reasons no one wants to be your friend!”  
“But the Baltics-”  
“Are terrified of you!” Ludwig interrupts.  
“I’m not that scary!” Ivan says. Ludwig doesn’t answer, and, annoyed at the silence, Ivan’s glare intensifies until everything glass within the room spontaneously smashes.  
“What in the hell?!”Ludwig bellows.  
“I think that might have been one of England’s curses,” Ivan says.  
“You should probably talk to him about getting that lifted,” Feli chirps from behind his waving white flag.  
“No, it’s okay,” Ivan answers.  
“But, don’t you want friends?” Feli asks.  
“Da, but everyone seems to se scared of me when I try to be friendly.”  
“Just be nice! Don’t stare at them, or mention ‘becoming one’, and talk about something nice like pasta! Or sunflowers, you like sunflowers, right?”  
“Da, if I ever have a girlfriend I will call her my little sunflower,” Ivan says, smile shrinking into something almost pleasant.  
“That’s sweet!” Feli chirrups.  
“And then she will become one with me and the world will be mine and her’s.”  
“This is why no one want to be your friend!” Ludwig bellows.  
“I’m not very good at thinking of nice things,” Ivan pouts, “My bosses have always encouraged me not to be nice.”  
“What in the hell kind of bosses have you had?” Ludwigs asks, half grumbling.  
“Just read this,” Ivan hands Ludwig a piece of paper covered in Cyrillic type.  
“I can’t read Russian,” Ludwig deadpans.  
“Oh. Well, I can’t be bothered to read it all out to you,” Ivan takes the paper, “It basically argues that a ‘nasty’ nation is better than a ‘nice’ one; they make better weapons. Especially since we can’t die, and can take much more stress and work that humans can, and if we train right we can be much stronger and faster and smarter than any human.”  
“Ja, your bosses are awful,” Ludwig says plainly, Feliciano sobbing in the armchair, “I have to wonder what possessed them to do this to their own country.”  
“You could ask them,” Ivan suggests.  
“Most of them will be dead,” Ludwig say slowly, as sarcastically as a German can get.  
“Magic!” Ivan cheers merrily.  
“I don’t have enough faith in England to ask him to do something like that,” Ludwig half laughs, “He’d start one of America’s zombie film in motion. Except it wouldn’t be one of America’s zombie films, because it wouldn’t be set in America.”  
“What about Russian magic?” Ivan suggests.  
“I’d imagine your magid is better than England’s,” Ludwig admits, “And I’m not just saying that because I don’t want you to curse me.”  
“Shall I try?” Ivan asks.  
“Please don’t.”  
“But my magic is much better than England’s.”  
“Which is why I don’t want to get cursed by you.”  
“Fine. I might just dig their bodies up anyway; use them to scare Italy.”  
“Don’t you dare!” Ludwig bellows, and Feliciano starts screaming again.  
“But it will be funny,” Ivan says plainly, smile dropping into a stare, purple aura beginning to tentacle off Ivan’s back like a really weird hentai creature.  
“It’s cruel!” Ludwig scolds, “Not just to the Italies, but to your past leaders too! Let them rest in piece!”  
“But they were cruel to me,” Ivan argues.  
“Surely not all of them were,” Feliciano pips up.  
“Well, no,” Ivan says, sighing, aura dropping, “Some of them were nice. Like Anastasia. She was only a teenager.”  
“Only a teenager?” Feliciano asks, “What happened to her?”  
“She was killed in the Russian Revolution,” Ivan says quietly.  
“Oh,” Feliciano gasps, “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”  
“I have to kill her myself,” Ivan’s voice cracks as he speaks, “I had to shoot her. I asked her to dance with me, and as her back was turned I shot her in the head. She thought it was strange that I would dance with my guns still on me, and I said I was in hurry and didn’t have much time to dance but wanted to. She believed me. I lied to her, and then I killed her.”  
“But it would have been much worse for her if you hadn’t,” Feliciano says gently.  
“You did the right thing,” Ludwig pats Ivan’s back awkwardly, “There wasn’t really much else you could have done.”  
“But what if she had lived?” Ivan says quietly.  
“Wouldn’t she have lonely without her family?” Feliciano asks.  
“And what would the citizens have done to her?” Ludwig asks.  
“She could have been safe,” Ivan doesn’t seem to hear, caught up in angsty nostalgia and painfully happy memories.  
“No, she wouldn’t have been,” Ludwig says a little more forcefully, “She would have been hunted by your citizens; she would never have been safe.”  
“She didn’t care how creepy I could be,” Ivan says, “She loved me, both as the Motherland and as Mister Vanya.”  
“You shouldn’t get so attached to your citizens,” Ludwig scolds, “She would have grown old and died eventually; such is the pain us nations live with.”  
Ivan sobs for several minutes, before straightening up, “Excuse me.”he stands.  
“Where are you going?” Feliciano asks.  
“I am rebelling,” Ivan answers plainly, stopping in the doorway.  
“Against yourself?” Feliciano frowns.  
“You mustn’t do that!” Ludwig yells, “Don’t you know what happens if you do that!”  
Ivan laughs. The laugh is low, deep, and somehow even creepier than his usual laugh, jolting his whole body as the sharp sounds escape his jaw. His aura writhes on his back, spreading and growing until it practically cloaks his whole body. In a rippling twitch, the deep purple turns a deep red, before the aura, or magic for want of a better word, peels away, to reveal Ivan’s signature white and purple clothing to have turned black and red.  
“Oh, shit,” Ludwig gapes dumbly, Feliciano trembling behind him. The second representative of Russia, Nikolai Braginski, stares back at him.


	2. Feliciano; Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE; myself and Redd Scarf were fairly new to the Hetalia fandom at this point, so there are a few cringworthy moments that I've left simply so you can laugh at me and how ridiculous I was.

“Feli, find a bright side to this,” Ludwig hisses to the Italian.  
“Why do I have to find the bright side?” Feliciano hisses back.  
“You’re generally the cheery one.”  
“At least he won’t be demanding everyone becomes one with him?” Feli suggests.  
“Good enough,” Ludwig says, before taking a deep breath and visibly relaxing.  
“What?” Nikolai asks. His voice is clearly much deeper than Ivan’s, and cracklier like a smoker’s voice.  
“Your counterpart’s favorite phrase,” Feliciano explains, “Like “You will become one with Mother Russia, da?” It’s really creepy.”  
Nikolai frowns. “My counterpart asks first?”  
“Ah, scheisse,” Ludwig deadpans, pulling out his Luger.  
“Little Germany, you know guns cannot kill us,” Nikolai deadpans. His voice is also much less cheery than Ivan’s, and his Russian accent is slightly thicker. Other subtle differences become clearer as Ludwig looks him over; his now-red scarf is thinner and looser showing the heavy scarring wrapped around his throat, his clothes are much older but thicker and better suited for colder weather, his hair is longer and somehow even more unkempt, his eyes are thinner with dark shadows underneath as if he hasn’t slept in a long time. His lips and face seem thinner, but that could just be the lack of unsettling grin. And Ludwig would be grateful for a grin, even Ivan’s false smile was friendlier than Nikolai’s unblinking stare.  
“It is simply for my own peace of mind,” Ludwig says as firmly as he can with the hairs on the back of his neck standing regiment, “And, of course, Feliciano’s.”  
“Feliciano?” Nikolai asks, and his head tilts to the side like Ivan’s; the Russian representatives couldn’t be so different.  
“North Italy,” Ludwig clarifies.  
“I know him as Lorenzo,” Nikolai says, “Where is… Feliciao?”  
“Feliciano,” Ludwig corrects, “Is in the corner. Hiding.”  
“Privyet, Feliciano,” Nikolai greets, voice still gravely and monotone, hand raised in a half-wave.  
Feliciano screams aloud, dashing to Ludwig and burying his face between Ludwig’s shoulders, using the stocky German as a human, or nation, shield.  
“Please don’t do that,” Ludwig scolds, “He’s easily startled.”  
“I only said hello,” Nikolai says without Ivan’s pout.  
“He’s terrified of your counterpart. And rumour has it that you’re worse.”  
“I have never met my counterpart,” Nikolai says calmly, “So I would not know. Who told you the rumour?”  
“Young-Soo,” Ludwig answers.  
“Yong-Su?” Nikolai echoes, “I thought he was my ally.”  
“Maybe we’re talking about different Young-Soo-s?” Ludwig suggests.  
“Korea?”  
“Okay, maybe we’re talking about the same Young-Soo,” Ludwig deadpans. After several seconds, he suggests; “Are you hungry?” hoping to send Feliciano off to the kitchen to make pasta.  
“I am alright,” and Nikolai exploits the massive flaw in Ludwig’s otherwise flawless plan, “Oliver gave me some cake to eat.”  
“Oliver?”  
“England,” Nikolai explains, pulling a red, undecorated cupcake out of one of his pockets and biting into it.  
“Why is it red?” Ludwig asks carefully.  
“Oliver’s a cannibal,” Nikolai says plainly.  
Feliciano’s grip on Ludwig’s shirt tightens, and Ludwig can remember Young-Soo telling everyone about the freckled version of England he’d met who baked people into cakes and pastries, and no one had believed him.  
“Would you like some, little Feliciano?” Nikolai asks.  
Feliciano screams, burying himself further into Ludwig’s back.  
“I think that means “No, thank you,”,” Ludwig says.  
“Yong-Su says Oliver cooks better than his counterpart,” Nikolai presses, holding the cupcake out, “And I value Yong-Su’s word very highly.”  
“Young-Soo says that Oliver has a bad habit of poisoning things,” Ludwig says, “Do you value that word as highly?”  
“Yes. Because it’s true. Are you afraid of death, little Germany?”  
“Of course I’m afraid of death, you psycho!” Ludwig snaps.  
“That’s rude,” Nikolai scolds, “We stopped using nasty words like ‘psycho’ several decades ago on my world. Except Al, but he only does it to make everyone angry.”  
“Our America likes annoying people, too,” Ludwig says calmly. “Feli, can you let me go? I can’t breathe.” Feliciano shakes his head against Ludwig’s shoulder blades. “Please? Why don’t you go make pasta?”  
“You are only being a burden, Feliciano,” Nikolai says, “You are holding little Germany back, and will only cause him to get hurt if something were to happen.”  
“He is not a burden!” Ludwig snaps, “You’re not a burden, Feli, don’t listen to him.”  
“Tell him the truth,” Nikolai scolds, “He has held you back since you’ve met him, hasn’t he? Of course; the Germany I know is always brutally honest, so you will be a blatant liar.”  
“I am not a liar!” Ludwig growls, “Feliciano has never held me back. If I needed to do something he wouldn’t like, I’d tell him to make pasta. That’s how he spent most of his time during the wars; cooking for the soldiers and prisoners of war. He was like a little housewife to Kiku and me.”  
“Because he is gay?” Nikolai asks.  
“His sexuality has nothing to do with it,” Ludwig says, slightly shocked, “How do you even know about that?”  
“Young-Su. Why are you red, little Germany?”  
“Ludwig? Are you alright?” Feliciano asks, concern outweighing suddenly forgotten fear, “Do you need something cool to eat?”  
“You have matching necklaces,” Nikolai notices as Feliciano leans around Ludwig to take the German’s temperature, “That’s cute. No one in my world has that.”  
“You seem to be okay,” Feliciano concludes, apparently not noticing Nikolai’s speaking, “I’m going to go make dinner, okay?”  
“Do you have vodka?” Nikolai asks.  
“I don’t think so,” Feliciano answers, “I have pasta, wurst, tomatoes-” he begins to list, until he notices Nikolai’s unforgiving stare, “I think Lovino left some Italian wine though, and there’ll probably be plenty of beer!”  
Nikolai sighs, “I know how to make vodka, if I can use your basement.”  
“No,” Ludwig says firmly, “Gil- Prussia lives there.”  
“The attic?”  
“No! That’s being used for storage. If you want vodka go buy some.”  
“I have no money,” Nikolai says, “We don’t use it anymore in my world. The gardening shed?”  
“Gardening tools. Go back to Russia; I’m sure Ivan has plenty in storage.”  
“I don’t want to go back to Russia,” Nikolai says plainly. He walks outside, his strides longer than Ivan’s and with much less spring in his step; Nikolai seems to march, stamping his booted feet loudly, as if he is determined to be heard, whereas Ivan has a habit of practically skipping, almost silent, causing him to ‘accidentally’ sneak up on people, usually the Baltic States, and scaring them out of their wits.  
“Why not?” Ludwig demands, matching Nikolai’s pace easily.  
“It is not time to go back to Russia yet,” Nikolai answers plainly.  
“And what the hell does that mean?”  
“You will see, little Germany.” Nikolai tears the old lock off the door to the shed and opens the door with a loud creak, “Ah, yes, this will do fine.”  
“Oh for- there is no room!” Ludwig practically bellows.  
“It will do fine,” Nikolai insists, starting to shove Ludwig out of his own shed.  
“You’re going to make a mess!”  
“It will do fine.”  
“There isn’t space in here to do anything!”  
“It will do fine.”  
Ludwig sighs. “You’re a stubborn as your counterpart.”  
“I am nothing like Ivan,” Nikolai growls.  
“You possess the same body! The same land! The same people! You are one and the same, even if you are nothing alike.”  
“Ivan is weak,” Nikolai growls, towering over Ludwig, “I am stronger than he has ever been.”  
“But you’re not so different,” Feliciano chirps, “You both really like vodka!”  
“Really?” Nikolai frowns, “Strange. Lorenzo, the other you, hates pasta.”  
“He doesn’t like pasta?!” Feliciano squeals in shock, “But everybody likes pasta!”  
“But he is your opposite,” Nikolai says plainly.  
“But pasta!” Feliciano cries, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.  
Ludwig pulls Feliciano into an awkward hug, patting the smaller man on the back.  
“You don’t seem to be understanding,” Nikolai says tiredly, “Alright, take the Holy Roman Empire, for example.”  
Feliciano wails, and Ludwig glares at Nikolai, “We don’t talk about that.”  
“I will talk about whatever I like, little Germany,” Nikolai says, a dangerous lilt lacing his deep voice as a red aura begins to cloak his body thinly.  
“It is not a welcome topic,” Ludwig growls, “Much like yourself and Anastasia, for example.”  
Nikolai’s face darkens, and the magic seeping off him darkens even further, thickening and writhing in anticipation. “However much Feliciano does not want to think about it, it is a part of his life. The sooner he can face that and accept it, the sooner he can grow up out of being a useless little crybaby.”  
Feliciano cries harder into Ludwig’s shoulder, and a red tendril of Russian magic wraps itself around his ankle. As he continues to cry, the tendril grows and thickens, wrapping itself around Feliciano’s legs, waist and torso before Ludwig breaks away from his death glare aimed at Nikolai. The German pulls away suddenly, shocked, and Feliciano falls silent in alarm before screaming helplessly, batting at the red glow as if it is a bug he can swat away. The magic engulfs him, cutting off his screams as it covers his open mouth.  
“Let him go!” Ludwig barks, Luger raised and aimed at Nikolai, “Let him go now!”  
Getting no response, Ludwig aims to the side slightly, shooting the wall behind Nikolai, narrowly missing Ludwig’s lawnmower, Nikolai blatantly ignores him.  
The red glow dims, brightens, and peels away. Feliciano’s blue clothes are replaced by a brown suit, his hair has darkened and a small hat sits atop it, his skin has paled and sallowed. Knives hang from his belt, his boots are properly laced, his hands are gloved. His smile is smaller, more relaxed and less cheery, his eyes are wider and have become an unnatural purple in colour.  
“Oh,” Lorenzo says plainly, “I understand what happened now. But how is this possible?”  
“I don’t know,” Nikolai answers, “We need to find Yong-Su, ask him if he knows anything.”  
“Fine. Lutz!” Lorenzo barks, “Where the fuck is Yong-Su.”  
Ludwig just stares. Where the hell has Feliciano gone?  
“Lutz!” Lorenzo barks again, “Can you fucking hear me? Don’t ignore me!”  
A harsh slapping sound, and Ludwig finds himself staring at the corner, his left cheek throbbing.  
“Wait a minute,” Lorenzo’s fingers trace a line across Ludwig’s cheek, “Where’s your scar? You’re not Lutz, are you?”  
“Ah, no,” Ludwig answers.  
“Then turn into him,” Lorenzo orders.  
“I can’t just-” Ludwig stammers.  
“Why not?” a gloved hand ghosts over a blood stained knife in warning.  
“I just can’t!” Ludwig snaps, “If it’s so easy, why don’t you turn back into Feliciano?”  
“Because who the fuck would want to be such a whiny crybaby?” Lorenzo rolls his eyes, “I’m going to go search the kitchen for vodka, I remember there will be some there. Nikolai; you turn this bastard into Lutz.”  
Lorenzo barges past Ludwig, much stronger than Feliciano as he almost barrels Ludwig over, and out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NIKOLAI refers to the past a lot. There is a reason for this.  
> LORENZO cusses more than Feliciano, is quite possessive and likely to throw a tantrum (as opposed to crying) if he doesn't get his way. He's also ridiculously sex-driven. And bi-sexual.


	3. Ludwig; Famous Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the German-speaking character comes in. Lutz (2p!Germany) speaks entirely in German. I've either used German that is very similar to English, or had another character basically repeat what he says.

“I need both of you to either get out of my house, or turn back into your counterparts,” Ludwig says firmly, “Well actually, I want you to leave my house either way, but let’s take this one step at a time.”  
“We’re not leaving,” Nikolai says plainly.  
“Give me one reason why.”  
“We don’t leave yet.”  
“And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean?!”  
Nikolai smiles, and it’s one of the most terrifying things Ludwig has ever seen, and he’s seen some shit in his (relatively) short life. It’s a cold, mocking smile, as if Nikolai is about to pat him on the head and dash his brains out with his heavy hands. At least Ivan’s fake smiles would hold some sort of childish cheer. Nikolai’s smile is nothing short of a cruel smirk, darker than Ivan’s most horrible stares, promising no less than hell on Earth to whoever he gives that smile to.  
“Fine,” Ludwig snaps, fear compressed, Luger clenched a little too tight in his trembling hand, “Don’t tell me. I still want you gone.”  
“No, I don’t leave for quite a while. In fact, you leave before I do.”  
“And why would I do that?”  
“Because I’m going to tell you to.”  
Ludwig almost laughs straight in Nikolai’s smirking face, “And I obey you?”  
“Yes.” Nikolai says plainly. The temperature of the room seems to drop, and Ludwig backs away from Nikolai, wedging himself into the corner.  
Nikolai’s smile drops suddenly into a thoughtful frown. Unlike Ivan, who had complete control over his facial expressions and forced himself to be happy almost constantly, Nikolai seems to wear his heart on his sleeve; every thought and expression flits across the tired face. Too bad every thought seems to be pure evil. Every cruel possibility that forms in his mind works its way into his face, and only succeeds in making Nikolai even more terrifying with every twisted fantasy he creates.  
His scarf, easily as long as Ivan’s had been, twitches, without Nikolai even moving. The ends shiver and spasm, before they rise, writhing as Nikolai stares at them, his awe-filled face looking more like Ivan’s than Ludwig thought possible, yet still twisted into a smirk of cruel intention.  
Nikolai seemingly being distracted, Ludwig makes a bolt for the door. One end of Nikolai’s scarf shoots after him, wrapping around his waist and hoisting him into the air, Ludwig knocking his head on the low wooden ceiling..  
Ludwig is forced back into the corner, held in place by the red wool still wrapped around his waist. Nikolai stares at him, head cocked in thought.  
“Out of all of you, you change the least,” Nikolai says absentmindedly, “Lutz has a lot more scars, though.”  
The other end of the scarf wraps itself around Ludwig’s left arm, squeezing tight. Pain flares, in three lines over Ludwig’s elbow and forearm, and the trapped German yells out in pain.  
The scarf is unwrapped, and Ludwig quickly checks his arm. Three deep, pink scars, like claw marks, sit in his skin. Ludwig runs his fingers over them; they’re fairly deep, and dry and scaly to the touch, and painfully sensitive when he digs his nails into them.  
“What are these?” he asks.  
“You got into a fight with Matt’s bear,” Nikolai answers.  
“Matt?”  
“Canada.”  
“Who?”  
The scarf around his waist tightens in anger, “Vimy Ridge. Remember that?”  
Ludwig shudders as he remembers Matthew, a man possessed, on the battlefield of Vimy Ridge, World War One. He remembers how the inexperienced Canadian had fought, shooting and stabbing with his bloodied bayonet. How the beaten and visibly exhausted Canuck had fought so hard and so successfully, and how neither Ludwig or Gilbert could believe it was truly the little colony’s first time fighting. How proud Arthur had been of his violent little pacifist.  
“How rude of you to forget,” Nikolai says, poking Ludwig’s face as he stresses his words.  
“Our Matthew is easy to forget.”  
“That’s no excuse!” and again, Ludwig’s face is reeled to his right, cheek stinging much deeper than Lorenzo’s hit was, a scar forming in the dig of his cheek, and the left side of his lips start to curl involuntarily into a lopsided smirk.  
The unused end of the scarf wraps tightly around Ludwig’s neck, the German’s hands shooting up to try to pull it away as his airways are blocked off and he struggles to breathe. Slowly, one by painful one, scars sink into his skin, and his muscles relax.  
Just before he passes out, Lutz smirks, cheek scar warping in his too wide smile, then his head lolls back and his body flops into unconscious uselessness.  
Nikolai grabs Lutz by the ankle, with his own hand, and drags the German back to the house like a ragdoll, not caring when the unmoving body scrapes against rocks and catches on corner walls.  
Lorenzo sits in the armchair in the living room, chewing on a pizza slice he produced from fuck knows where, vodka bottle standing proud on the coffee table.  
“Is that Lutz?” Lorenzo asks plainly.  
“Yes,” Nikolai answers, dropping the ankle.  
“Yay!” Lorenzo chirps. He stands and walks over to Lutz before he swings his leg back and kicks the incoherent German hard in the stomach, and Lutz chokes, barely covering Lorenzo’s hollers of “Wake up, you useless lazy bastard!”  
Lutz groans, and Lorenzo kicks him again. Nikolai grabs the vodka bottle, unscrewing it and taking a long, hearty swig as he sits himself down. Lutz mumbles something in German, and Lorenzo screams at him to speak English, only to be answered with more English.  
“Guten Morgen, Nikolai,” Lutz greets Nikolai in his mother tongue, “Oder Nacht. Oder was auch immer das Zeit ist.”  
“Why isn't he speaking English?” Nikolai asks Lorenzo.  
“He just forgets to speak in it when he’s just woken up,” Lorenzo answers, “Don’t you, amato mia?” he punctuates his endearment with another sharp kick.  
“So long as he understands his orders,” Nikolai says, “Lutz; I have a mission for you.”  
“Was ist es?” Lutz asks, yawning, and Lorenzo leaves as Lutz drags himself off the floor.  
“I need you to go collect England.”  
“Wass? Das Cupcakemann? Warum?”  
“Because he makes nice cupcakes.”  
“Das ist warum? Sie wollen mir ein Kannibale kidnappen, denn magen Sie ihr Backen?”  
“Yes. Do I need another reason?”  
Lutz blinks at him. “Ja. Sie sein nur irre, und werde ich nicht es tun.”  
“We don’t use words like ‘crazy’ anymore, remember Ludwig?,” Nikolai says with a glare.  
Lutz nods his dismissal, getting up. Lorenzo appears suddenly in the door, cackling like a goose.  
“Liebling?” Lutz says warily, pointing to the device strapped to Lorenzo’s back, “Warum hast du das? Und wo kriegst du es von?”  
“Yes, why do you have that?” Nikolai asks, “And why do Ludwig and Feliciano even own a flamethrower?”  
Lorenzo shrugs, before aiming the unfired nozzle at Lutz, whose eyes widen with a whispered German cuss. “Lutz, amato mia, remind what the German phrase for ‘Fire’ is? You used to say it in the wars and I’ve completely forgotten it, silly me!”  
“Feuer frei,” Lutz answers.  
“Ah yes, feuer frei,” Lorenzo repeats. He clears his throat, and with a cry of “Feuer frei!” he pulls the trigger, Lutz sprawling down onto the floor to avoid the explosion of agony orange flames that erupt from the nozzle.  
“Alright, I think he gets the point,” Nikolai says, tugging on Lorenzo’s shoulder as the Italian laughs wildly.  
“There isn’t a point. Knives and swords and spears and bayonets have points. Flamethrowers have fire. Silly Nikolai.”  
“Are you going to collect England, Lutz?” Nikolai calls to the German.  
“Ja! Ja! Bitte macht ihm das Flammenwerfer nach setzen unten!” Lutz screams.  
“You heard him; put the flamethrower down,” Nikolai orders.  
Lorenzo pouts, “It was just little encouragement.”  
Ludwig scrambles to his feet, running from the house. Lorenzo miserably shrugs the flamethrower off his back, putting it down by the door, “I only wanted to try it out.”  
“It is alright, you will have the opportunity to try it out later.”  
Lorenzo grins, sitting back down in his armchair and pulling another slice of pizza from the seventh circle of hell or wherever the last one came from. Nikolai sits on the settee near to him, drinking deeply from his vodka bottle.  
And over in England, Lutz barges in on a man having a Harry Potter marathon, with enough food to feed three people spread out across his coffee table. Lutz grabs Arthur, human representative of England, and hauls the delinquent gentleman over his shoulder, never noticing the red-headed male hiding behind the settee, shaking in fear. Lutz marches out before the red-head’s feistier twin gets back from her bathroom trip, when Sean Kirkland, human representative of North Ireland, leaps at his sister with tears and a garbled Gaelic story of a scary scarred man grabbing Arthur and carrying him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lutz then ends up speaking German for the entire story.  
> For a little context, 'Sie' is the formal version of 'you', which Lutz uses when speaking to Nikolai. He refers to Lorenzo and most other characters by the informal 'du'.


	4. Gilbert; Bright Pledge

Two hours pass. Nikolai finishes his bottle of vodka, Lorenzo gives him another and heads out to buy more. The Italian is back with vodka, wine and pizza making supplies, and still no word from the scarred blond. The house smells of tomato pizza, Lorenzo sipping wine as he waits, staring out of the window from a distance. Nikolai is sat at the window, watching impatiently like a child waiting for their over-generous eccentric aunt on Christmas Eve. Except they don’t traditionally celebrate Christmas in Russia, so that simile makes hardly any sense.  
“If you’d let me burn him, he’d be back by now,” Lorenzo whines, eying up his flamethrower.  
“What if he’s fallen asleep?” Nikolai asks worriedly, like the earlier child has just been told their aunt’s car has broken down and she won’t be here for Christmas. I don’t care if the simile makes no sense, I’m staying with it.  
“We know he won’t,” Lorenzo reassures him.  
Nikolai nods, taking another deep glug of his vodka, before he frowns, “We’re forgetting something.”  
“Are we?” Lorenzo asks, “You’re the one with all the know-how. I didn’t believe you about any of this, remember?”  
“Yes, yes, I remember,” Nikolai waves the Italian into silence, thinking. “Where’s Gilbert?”  
“He lived in the basement,” Lorenzo answers.  
“Go get him!” Nikolai barks.  
Lorenzo rolls his eyes before skipping off, grabbing his flamethrower as he passes.  
Nikolai remains sitting merrily as Gilbert yells in German from the basement. Lorenzo’s flamethrower hisses a few times, then Gilbert comes thudding, hurtling up the stairs, Lorenzo’s cackling following the confused albino every step of the way. He flies through the door, landing on the hallway floor with a painful crash. Lorenzo, with a few encouraging flames, ushers Gilbert into the living room, the Prussian careful to keep a fair distance between himself and the Italian, Gilbird hopping up and down on the nest he’s made in Gilbert’s hair.  
“You seem to have grown since I last saw you,” Nikolai says. Gilbert just stares, looking him up and down in utter confusion, “Would you like to join your brother?”  
“Doing what?” Gilbert asks with a suspicious glare, Gilbird’s tweet equally suspicious.  
“Well, anything,” Nikolai says, “You love your brother, don’t you?”  
“Yes,” Gilbert trails off, “What have you done to my brother?!”  
“Nothing! We did nothing!” Nikolai reassures him, “Did we, Italy?” he says pointedly.  
“No, Russia wouldn’t let me,” Lorenzo answers, picking up the hint.  
“Because I know how dangerous you can be,” Nikolai says, and Lorenzo only smiles innocently, furthering Gilbert’s confusion, “But, Prussia, don’t you want to join us?”  
“Join you in what?” Gilbert asks, “Where’s West?”  
“He’s gone West,” Lorenzo giggles.  
“He’s getting England,” Nikolai answers.  
“Why?” Gilbert asks.  
“Because he makes good food,” Nikolai says.  
Gilbert stares for several before he breaks down laughing, “What? Are you serious?”  
“Yes.”  
“I knew you were crazy, but seriously!”  
Nikolai frowns, “Don’t you enjoy doing things with your brother? Like your training?”  
“Yes,” Gilbert says, laughing stopped, “Where is this going?”  
“It’s going in a direction in which you join us and your brother.”  
“You want me to help West to kidnap England?” Gilbert asks, and Gilbird tweets questioningly.  
“Yes, but as your second player counterpart,” Nikolai answers.  
“How about nein!” Gilbert barks.  
“I don’t want to have to set Lorenzo on you,” Nikolai warns, and Lorenzo waves the burnt nozzle of the flamethrower at him.  
“Ah, but if second players are our opposites,” Gilbert gibbers, “Then surely my counterpart must be the most unawesome thing to ever exist!”  
“Un-awesome isn’t even a word,” Lorenzo says.  
Gilbird tweets indignantly at the Italian. Good bird. Awesome friend.  
“Still, if all the nations from our world are here, it will be much easier to keep track of,” Nikolai says slowly, thinking carefully, “But the reason I forgot about you is because, our Prussia died fifty years ago. So, I suppose this Prussia is unnecessary. He is expandable. Lorenzo; have fun.”  
Lorenzo whoops, and Gilbert screams, Gilbird twittering in alarm, “No! Please! I’ll kidnap England, I’ll join you, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t kill me!”  
“A deal?” Nikolai asks, interested, waving for Lorenzo to wait.  
“Yeah, even the 2-p world needs a little more awesome,” Gilbert urges, Gilbird twittering in agreement.  
“Alright. I suppose you can stay,” Nikolai says, and Gilbert whoops and Gilbird cheeps happily.  
“But I wanna set someone on fire!” Lorenzo yell-whines.  
“Soon, Lorenzo. I’ll tell you what; as soon as Gilbert steps out of line you can burn him.”  
Lorenzo cheer, before taking off the flamethrower and skipping off to the kitchen. As much as he loves burning people, burnt pizza is just awful.  
“So…” Gilbert says awkwardly, “You’re 2p, huh?”  
“Yes,” Nikolai answers plainly.  
“Young-Soo would always tell us about you. No one ever believed him.”  
“Yong-Su would tell us about you, too. We always believed him.”  
“Well, you are our opposites, so…” the conversation trails off, the atmosphere as awkward as Miranda Cosgrove. Old joke, I know. “West is kidnapping Arthur?”  
“Yes.”  
“What are your Ludwig and Arthur called?”  
“Lutz and Oliver.”  
“And Oliver’s a good cook?”  
“He bakes well. I like his cupcakes.”  
“That’s sweet.”  
“They tend to be quite metallic-tasting, actually.”  
Gilbert frowns, Gilbird tweeting in question until Gilbert shush-paps him into silence, “So… Your version of me is dead?”  
“Yes.”  
“Who killed me?”  
“You did. You commited suicide, bullet to the head. Lutz found your body.”  
“Oh. That’s awful.”  
“You’re the only one of us who successfully died.”  
“Good for the awesome me, then, huh?”  
Nikolai doesn’t answer.  
Lorenzo saunters back in, plate of pizza balancing in his open hand, chewing happily on a slice.  
“We need to go after Hungary,” Nikolai says, addressing the whole room.  
“Hell no!” Gilbert snaps, “She’s smack me with that damn frying pan of her’s!”  
Lorenzo puts the pizza down and grabs the flamethrower, Gilbert backing away in fear.  
“You go, then, Lorenzo,” Nikolai says to the Italian.  
“What? But I just got my pizza!” Lorenzo whines, “And I wanna burn Gilbert!”  
“You can burn Hungary if you need to,” Nikolai says plainly.  
“I don’t like that idea,” Lorenzo says with a scowl, “Who even put you in charge, anyway?!”  
“Oh, shit,” Gilbert says, backing away, Gilbird chirping warily.  
“I’ve always been in charge, Lorenzo. Why would here and now be any different?”  
And outside, a voice can be heard shouting; “Put me down, you steroids-munching, beer-guzzling, gel-wasting tosser!”  
“Sounds like Lutz is back,” Nikolai comments.  
Lorenzo’s scowl drops instantly, anger seemingly forgotten, as he cheers. Well, he can’t be too different from Feliciano, can he?  
Lutz struggles his way through the door, Arthur wriggling about and swinging his limbs wildly in an attempt to escape. “Ich habe ihm.” The German announces as he throws the angered Brit into an armchair.  
“What the hell is going on?” Arthur demands.  
“Hello, Arthur,” Nikolai says calmly, “I am not the Russia you are used to, but we would like you to join us.”  
“I’d wondered if Young-Soo was telling the truth,” Arthur admits, “If fairies are real, why not alternate universes?”  
“Right…” Gilbert agrees sarcastically.  
“But I’m afraid I will have to politely decline,” Arthur finishes, ignoring Gilbert.  
“You don’t really have that option,” Nikolai says plainly.  
“Then why word it as if there’s an option?”  
“Manners,” Nikolai shrugs, “But you will join us, and you will join us as your second player counterpart. Whether the process of changing into him is easy or difficult is completely up to you.”  
“Go on, then,” Arthur challenges, “Wave your wand or whatever; I’m not scared of you or your silly Russian magic.”  
Lorenzo chuckles, and Lutz straight out starts guffawing.  
“I can assure you precautions have been taken,” Arthur says, speaking loudly over the laughing pair, “As soon as the possibility was put forward, myself and my siblings took it upon ourselves to protect each other and our loved ones from any dimension shifting. It was complicated, and Alistair thought I was being paranoid, but here we are.”  
“Bedeutet dass Matt kommt night?” Lutz whines.  
“No, of course Matt’s coming,” Nikolai reassures the sulking German, “I don’t think Yong-Su ever really understood what the ‘counterparts’ were. I didn’t, until only a few years ago. But, if Yong-Su doesn’t understand it, how could Arthur possibly understand it?”  
“Understand what?” Gilbert asks, Gilbert chirruping in question.  
Lutz’s head snaps around at the voice, electric blue eyes settling on Gilbert, wide in shock. “Bruder? Du lebst?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End German reads "Brother? You're alive?"  
> Don't question the Christmas analogy.


	5. Erin; Irish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of the Original Character(s); the Ireland twins

An awful silence falls over the room, Nikolai and Lorenzo only able to watch forlornly as Lutz stares at Gilbert, the sight of the albino expelling the fifty year old nightmares of the gunshots and the blood and the barely recognisable body. Gilbert backs away, unsure how to break the un-awesomely stifling quiet, not even Gilbird daring to make a sound. Arthur shuffles about in a seemingly awkward fashion, discreetly sending a series of signals to a red-headed pair peeping in through the window.  
“No,” Gilbert finally breaks the silence, voice not quite as firm as he’d like it to be, “Well, yes, I’m alive, but I’m not the Gilbert you knew; I’m different.”  
“Nein, nein,” Lutz insists, “Du bist die gleich!”  
“I’m not the same, I’m really not!” Gilbert says, Gilbird tweeting like his fluffy little life depends on it.  
“Lutz, you need to pull yourself together,” Nikolai snaps, “Your Gilbert is dead, and you need to accept that.”  
“Doch ist es Gilbert!” Lutz cries.  
“It isn’t, and you know it isn’t,” Nikolai says sternly, “I told you this would happen, and you said you would be fine.”  
“Ich bin fein!” Lutz snaps. “Das ist Gilbert, und wir kennen beide es!”  
“Lutz!” Lorenzo shrieks, “Shut the fuck up, calm the fuck down, and speak in English goddammit!”  
Lutz stares, blinking slowly, face red in anger and nostalgic misery. He stares back at Gilbert, to Lorenzo, to Nikolai, then at the floor as he sits down, legs crossed like a school child, face in his hands, palms digging painfully into his eyes, and he just sobs, every cry tearing its way through his scar lined body, limbs jolting at every choke.  
Arthur awkwardly reaches out, patting blond hair cautiously with outstretched fingertips. Lutz doesn’t seem to even notice. Nikolai glares at Lorenzo, gesturing openly at the German with his head, until the irritable Italian crouches down beside his partner, drumming his fingers impatiently on the nozzle of his flamethrower.  
“Hey, Lutz, carino, stop crying and you can help me torture Arthur into submission,” he coos.  
“I can leave,” Gilbert offers, “I’ll head back to the basement. Won’t go anywhere or try anything, I swear on Gilbird’s life!” Gilbird tweets, giving Gilbert an angry peck on the scalp.  
“It won’t be necessary,” Nikolai says calmly, “Lutz is very in control of himself. He will be fine.”  
“Can I go back to the basement anyway? I was playing a really cool video game, and I really wanna beat this level.”  
“No. You can, however, fetch your journal.”  
“My journal?” Gilbert frowns, and Gilbert tweets in question, “How did you even know I have a journal.”  
“Ludwig told me, now go fetch it!” Nikolai snaps, and Gilbert scurries off as Lorenzo continues to coo promises into  
Lutz sniffles, rubbing his nose viciously with his hand, still choking, but significantly calmer. With Lorenzo dragging semi-helpfully on his arm, Lutz climbs to his feet, wiping his tear-stained cheeks with his wrists as his lazy smirks creeps back into place.”Was sind das Order, Boss?”  
Nikolai mirrors Lutz’s smirk, “We bring Oliver here.”  
“No you don’t!” Arthur chirps arrogantly.  
“Got it!” Gilbert announces, waving the journal, “Am I the official scribe or something? Recording every achievement in awesome detail?”  
“”That is your current purpose, yes,” Nikolai answers.  
Gilbert sits cross-legged on the floor, journal on the coffee table, and begins to write on a clean page, “So, what happened first?”  
“Lutz, fill the Prussian in,” Nikolai orders, and Gilbert whoops at the mention of his awesome nationality.  
Lutz sits calmly opposite the albino. Gaze fixated on the table, Lutz solemnly begins to chant in a thick, barely understandable German accent; “Nikolai came across first. Ivan wanted to rebel against his own country, causing the change. Then came Lorenzo, then Lutz, Nikolai practising his Russian magic to change them both. Lutz was then sent to collect Arthur from England, and Lorenzo was sent to collect Gilbert.”  
“That sounds rather practised,” Gilbert says conversationally, writing furiously. Lutz only grunts in response.  
“It almost sounds rehearsed,” Arthur agrees with Gilbert, “Which is only the slightest bit creepy.”  
“Arthur, we know you and your siblings are fully capable of changing with your counterparts at will,” Nikolai says, addressing the Brit, “All I ask of you is to change with Oliver, without a fight.”  
“No chance in hell,” Arthur answers plainly.  
“I didn’t think there was. I was just wondering. Lorenzo; have fun.”  
“Finally!” Lorenzo cheers. In three strides, Lorenzo is stood over Arthur, nozzle aimed for the Brit’s legs, finger just starting to squeeze the nozzle.  
The door flies open with a crash, followed by a male voice, chirpy with it’s Irish accent, “Get the fuck away from my brother, you macaroni-munching monger!”  
The Ireland twins are very similar in appearance; same height, same dark red shade of hair, even similar ways of standing with their heads held high, shoulders back, emerald eyes slightly narrowed; the very image of arrogance. However, Erin’s hair is much longer, bunched hair swinging to her shoulder blades, Sean is slimmer and leaner, Erin is frecklier, and little flashes of nervousness dance across Sean’s shaved face as the Northern sibling scans the room.  
“Change of plan, Lorenzo,” Nikolai says.  
“Got it,” Lorenzo chirrups, swinging the nozzle around to aim at the twins.  
Calmly, in almost complete unison, the Ireland twins raise their guns; Sean a handgun, and as he steps further into the room a rifle becomes visible slung over his shoulder, and Erin something akin to a miniature bazooka, a shoulder bag full of fuck-knows-what clanking against her hip.  
“Where the fuck did you get those from?” Arthur asks, mostly shocked, mostly impressed.  
“Alistair,” the twins answer, shrugging in unison.  
Nikolai bounds over to the twins, punching Erin directly in the face. Sean whirls, firing off bullets, and dives closer to his target, only to be dragged off by Lutz as Nikolai roots around his coat to find an empty vodka bottle and Ivan’s pipe. Lorenzo aims his flamethrower at Erin and pulls the trigger, Erin having to throw herself backwards onto the floor to dodge the eruption of scalding light.  
Arthur slides out of the armchair, crouching next to Gilbert, “Got anything useful? I.e. weapons?”  
“West’s got them stashed all over the place,” Gilbert answers, reaching his hands under the coffee table. It takes very little searching to find two handguns, fully loaded and waiting to be cocked and shot, strapped to the underside of the tabletop. Danke Gott for his little brother’s paranoia.  
“Freeze, big nose!” Arthur yells, holding the barrel of one of the guns to the side of Nikolai’s head, “Holy shit, I just sounded so American.”  
Gilbert calmly aims his gun at Lutz’s head. Sean aims his at Lorenzo, forcibly ripping the harness to the flamethrower off of the Italian. Erin shoves the barrel of her bazooka into Nikolai’s face, pointedly loading it right there and then.  
“You know we don’t die easily,” Nikolai says, surprisingly calm for a man staring down the barrel of a loaded bazooka.  
“No,” Arthur agrees, “But a bullet to the brain is enough to knock you out for a good few hours. Long enough for you to calm down and return to the creepy Russia we’re more familiar with.”  
Nikolai, without seeming to pause to think about it, swings Ivan’s pipe, hitting Erin behind the knees and knocking her over, before clobbering Arthur in the head and he falls away. He throws the pipe, and Sean has to hit the floor to avoid a face full of metal. The empty vodka bottle is launched at Gilbert, who fails to dodge it and the glass smashes against his shoulder, cutting his upper arm and making the awesome albino yell out in pain, fingers instinctively relaxing and dropping the handgun.  
From the floor, Arthur raises the gun to fire at Lorenzo, Nikolai kicking the Brit in the wrist as he squeezes the trigger, the bullet burying itself in the ceiling. Lorenzo re-attaches the harness of his beloved flamethrower, aiming at Erin and firing. The flames lick the Southern red-head, her shirt setting alight.  
“Stop, drop and roll!” Sean screams at his sister, “Stop, drop and roll!”  
Erin rolls across the floor, Sean still screaming that same phrase at her, until the flames are out, her shirt singed and some of the hem burnt to ash, but her shirt is mostly intact. Clearly, Erin gets her shirts from the same place Bruce Banner gets his trousers from.  
Lutz, meanwhile, had dived on Arthur, knocking the wind out of the Brit with his solid body, and is pinning Arthur dawn, the gun thrown well out of reach. Arthur hisses as his ribs crack under Lutz’s strong hold. Gilbert still clutches his arm, Gilbird twittering in worry.  
Nikolai picks Erin up off the floor by her neck, strangling her as she begins to kick at him, booted feet connecting firmly with Nikolai’s ribs, but the hulking Russian doesn’t seem to notice as bruises begin to blossom over his chest. Lorenzo fires at Sean, barely missing, herding the frightened Irishman into the corner.  
“Why don’t you just join us?” Nikolai asks, Ivan’s dangerously innocent lilt laced through his voice, “We will treat you kindly, I promise.”  
“You call this kindness?” Erin chokes.  
“When you join us,” Nikolai clarifies.  
“Agree to it!” Sean yells from the corner, Lorenzo poking him in the cheek with the heated nozzle.  
“You always have been a fucking traitor!” Erin snaps at him.  
“I’m about to be cremated over here!” Sean yells.  
“And the rest of us are having such a party!” Erin yells back, words dripping with sarcasm.  
“Join us or Sean gets burned,” Nikolai warns, and both Arthur and Erin freeze in their struggling.  
“Put Erin down, let me talk to her,” Sean shouts to Nikolai.  
“They are twins,” Lorenzo says, “My counterpart is the only person who can get through to his twin.”  
“Und Flavio ist das nur eine wer sprechen Verstand in Lorenzo kann,” Ludwig agrees.  
“Flavio isn’t needed to ‘talk sense’ into me!” Lorenzo snaps.  
Nikolai, with a nod to Lorenzo, puts Erin gently down on the floor. Sean scrambles from the corner straight to his angry sister, coddling her and twittering quickly in Irish Gaelic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Alistair' is Scotland. He comes in later.


	6. Sean; Gift of God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gore, torture and disembowelling warnings

“So, Arthur, do you intend to let Oliver cross over?” Nikolai asks the Brit, towering over him as Lutz pins him to the floor.  
Arthur’s only response is to spit, the thick mixture of blood and phlegm clinging to the toe of Nikolai’s boot. Calmly, Nikolai steps forward on that boot, crushing Arthur’s left hand under the sole and putting a large portion of his solid weight on it. Arthur lets out a long string of curses as Nikolai twists his leg, grinding the hand underneath it, snapping bones and tearing skin and warping fingers until Arthur’s screaming in pain.  
“How about now?” Nikolai asks, leaning back on his heel, driving the hard sole down into already broken fingers.  
“How about fuck you?” Arthur spits back.  
Nikolai sighs, stepping off Arthur’s foot with a lazily flicked kick to the shoulder, making Arthur wince as he snatches in his hurt hand to cradle the mess of blood, skin and bone. Nikolai walks over to one of Ludwig’s discarded guns, Gilbert shuffling away as the Russian gets closer.  
“Can you still write?” Nikolai asks him plainly.  
“Yeah, it’s my right arm that’s hurt,” Gilbert answers, fear suppressed, Gilbird tweeting in worry.  
“Good. Give me ten minutes and I will have someone bandage that up for you,” Nikolai says, picking up the handgun.  
Arthur stares right at the gun arrogantly as Nikolai lines the barrel up between the Brit’s signature emerald eyes.  
Lorenzo yells out suddenly, distracting Nikolai. Sean has the Italian pinned to the floor and is once again tearing the flamethrower away. Erin stands solid, a wooden stick aimed at Nikolai, then at the gun as it comes into her view, and she barks the word “Expelliarmus!”  
Arthur breathes a barely suppressed sigh of relief as Nikolai throws the now-useless gun down, Lutz growling at Erin about wasting good weaponry.  
Erin points the wand at Nikolai; “Confringo!”  
Nikolai dives to the side to narrowly avoid a blast of Irish magic, and Erin takes the opportunity to put a confusion curse “Confundo!” on Lutz.  
“Impervious!” Sean shouts, wand aimed at Nikolai, Lorenzo on the floor next to him.  
Nikolai’s arms and legs are forced together and held there as if he’s completely bound. Lutz laughs aloud as Nikolai falls helplessly to the ground.  
“Well done, you have got me,” Nikola says dully as the Ireland twins hi-five, “Now let me go. It’s not like I did anything wrong.”  
“Only trying to take over the world,” Arthur says sarcastically, climbing slowly and carefully up off the floor, injured hand cradled close to his chest.  
“What the fuck did you do to Lutz?” Lorenzo demands.  
“Confusion curse,” Sean answers calmly.  
“Lift it!”  
“Nope.”  
Growling, Lorenzo tears a knife from his belt and buries it in Sean’s thigh. “Lift it now!”  
“Finite Incantatem!” Sean says immediately, wand pointed at Lutz.  
“And whatever you’ve put on Nikolai,” Lorenzo orders, second knife pulled from his belt.  
“Binding charm,” Sean answers.  
“Fucking lift it!” Lorenzo yells.  
“Finite Incantatem!” Sean says immediately, wand pointed at Nikolai.  
The ends of Nikolai’s scarf whip forward, slapping wands out of hands and wrapping around the throats of an Irish twin each. Lutz dives up from the floor, once again grabbing Arthur and pinning him back down, digging two fingers inside the back of Arthur’s bloody hand until the Brit gives up struggling.  
“May I borrow one of your knives?” Nikolai asks the Italian, who complies with a smirk. “Go fix up Gilbert, and get him writing in his journal again.”  
Lorenzo obeys with a nod, kicking Gilbert up to his feet and following him to the kitchen and the first aid kit Ludwig invested in for Feliciano’s cooking clumsies.  
“Erin, Sean, this is your last opportunity to join us willingly,” Nikolai says.  
Erin spits at him, more like her brother than she will ever allow anyone to suggest, and Sean whines in fear.  
“Sie werden nicht das tun,” Lutz says.  
“They can’t if we don’t give them the opportunity,” Nikolai scolds.  
“Irischlampe,” Lutz spits, seemingly at Erin.  
“Don’t be rude,” Nikolai snaps at the German, “She isn’t Rhiona. Yet.”  
“And I’m not going to be!” Erin says with a kick to Nikolai’s ribs.  
“Are you sure?” Nikolai asks.  
Answered only with a glare, Nikolai takes the knife and presses the tip into Sean’s chest. Dragging it to the side, leaving a line of seeping red behind it, Nikolai traces around Sean’s heart too practised and accurate for anyone to be comfortable. Blade flat, he presses it under the shape, peeling the skin away to reveal muscles tensed in pain.  
Sean yells in pain, struggling violently as more and more of Nikolai’s scarf wraps around his flailing limbs, having to partially unwind from Nikolai’s neck. Nikolai severs through the muscles, the tense tendons snapping the muscles back almost immediately and sometimes tearing the muscles if Nikolai doesn’t cut through them fast enough.  
Nikolai takes a large pair of pliers, taken from Ludwig’s shed and usually used for cutting through large branches. He hooks one half under Sean’s left third rib, the only thing stopping Nikolai from pulling Sean’s heart out from between his lungs and sternum, and pulls the handles together firmly, the crunch of splitting bone unhearable under Sean’s anguished scream.  
Both Erin and Arthur pleading, Sean wailing in agony, Nikolai presses his fingers into Sean’s chest, curling them cruelly gentle around Sean’s fluttering heart and pulling. Slowly, centimeter by painful centimetre, Nikolai wriggles and coaxes the panicking muscle out from behind its guarding sternum until the connected veins and arteries are ripping and tearing, cascades of red flushing down Sean’s body to the floor below him, soaking his clothes, the entrapping scarf and the carpet. And finally, as the last thin vein snaps, Sean’s head rolls back, scream cut off into an awful dead silence.  
“Well done,” Arthur says, the tremble of his voice making his sarcasm completely redundant, “You killed Sean. And in a few hours he’ll have healed and woken up, so what exactly have you accomplished here?”  
“A lot more than you think,” Nikolai answers, a little too calm about the dead body hanging from his scarf and the unbeating heart still dripping in his heart.  
Erin choking silent sobs from the other end of his scarf, Nikolai wipes Sean’s heart clean on his scarf, muttering to it until the veins turn a deep black. He stuffs it back into Sean’s chest, cramming it lazily behind its sternum. He pulls on the muscles retreated back to their tendons behind the skin, matching up the halves and holding them together until they forcibly heal with a soft red glow of Nikolai’s magic. The heart convulses and twitches and spins, trying to fit itself back in its place, as the muscles seal over it. Nikolai puts the patch of skin back, the line sealing itself over until only a thin pink scar remains.  
The scarf unravels, Sean dropping unceremoniously to the floor. His body twitches and convulses, red smoke writhing from his dropped jaw. Arthur curses under his breath in a mixture of shock and disbelief, and Erin begins to mutter under her breath. As the seemingly innocent murmuring continues, the red tendrils thin and flail, dying.  
A chunk of Nikolai’s scarf wraps around Erin’s head, tightening over her mouth until her jaw is held open and the wool, disturbingly metallic in taste, is sticking dryly to her tongue. She kicks, connecting with Nikolai’s ribs until the protective bones begin to make crunching noises, but Nikolai doesn’t even flinch, the scarf tightening and tightening around Erin’s head and throat and torso until she can barely breathe, and her exhausted limbs fall limp, leaving Erin to only glare at Nikolai, breathing deeply through the itchy wool filter.  
“Now, Erin,” Nikolai says to the glaring woman calmly, “Do you really want to have to go through that too?”  
His only answer is a continued glare and a raised middle finger, which with a flick of a wrist is on the floor, disconnected from its owner yelling anew in shocked pain.  
“You shouldn’t be doing this!” Arthur yells from his pinned place on the floor, “You’re making a big mistake, and you’re going to regret all of it.”  
“The three of you will change, whether you like it or not,” Nikolai answers coldly.  
“We won’t be the last people to oppose you, though. and we’re definitely not the worst who’ll oppose you, or the strongest. You’ve got the entire British Empire coming your way, and I’ll guarantee they’ll be so pissed.”  
“They’ll follow their precious father,” Nikolai says calmly, almost arrogantly, “They will obey me the same way you will.”  
“I’m not the father to the entire Empire. And I’m not the only leader. Who do you think raised me?”  
“Are you threatening to set your big brother Alistair on me?” Nikolai asks, almost laughing.”Lutz, fetch the Canadian.”  
“Matt?” Lutz asks, “Doch mag ich Matt.”  
“It’s not Matt,” Nikolai snaps, “Just find him and bring him here.”  
“He won’t find him!” Arthur says, “Matthew’s practically invisible!”  
Lutz nods his obedience to Nikolai, dragging Arthur to his feet and throwing him at Nikolai, the Brit getting wrapped tightly in the scarf stained in his brother’s blood. A soft glow emits from the opposite end of the scarf, enveloping the silenced Erin. Lutz sneers at her as he passes, slamming the door as he leaves, mumbling some strange song about sparkle parties to himself.  
“Lorenzo?” Nikolai calls to the kitchen, “Is Gilbert bandaged yet?”  
“Yep,” Lorenzo answers, emerging from the kitchen, Gilbert trailing behind him with his precious journal coddled tightly in his arms and Gilbird twittering away on his head.  
“Go fetch Elizabeta,” Nikolai orders. “And be gentle with her.”  
“I don’t want to!” Lorenzo whines. “And you said I could use my flamethrower on her!”  
“But Liz loves you.”  
“No, she loves the little boy she could dress up and ship with Roman!” Lorenzo snaps, “She will be burned.”  
“But she’d do anything for you,” Nikolai presses, “You can pretty much boss Liz around.”  
“That’s a point…” Lorenzo agrees, thinking.  
“Go get her, then,” Nikolai says.  
Lorenzo skips off with a vaguely Feliciano style “Ve!”, swinging his beloved flamethrower from his hand. As the door closes, Nikolai unravels his scarf, gently putting the human representative of the Republic of Ireland down on the ground.  
Arthur sobs aloud as Rhiona, thinner and significantly more freckled than Erin, blinks tired willow eyes up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Roman' is the Holy Roman Empire  
> Elizabeta/Liz are 1p/2p Hungary respectively  
> 'Irischlape' is a mash up of the words 'Irisch' (Irish) and 'Schlampe' (bitch)


	7. Arthur; Noble

“Give Erin back!” Arthur screams as Rhiona stands herself up. Erin’s work overalls and old t-shirt have been replaced by a blouse, long skirt and an apron, all three clearly having been fixed and re-hemmed several times; in fact, the blouse and skirt seem to have been sized down from a larger shirt and a pair of trousers. Her hair is ridiculously long, plaited and wrapped three times around her waist before being wrapped over itself to hold it in place, the scratty ribbon holding it together hanging by her knees. She’s skeletal, bones visibly kneading under her skin as she moves, her skin is peeling and her eyes are dull, lifeless without Erin’s cheeky, rebellious spark.  
“Rhiona? Vodka.” Nikolai orders her plainly.  
Rhiona leaves with a hurried courtesy, tottering into the kitchen with short, hopping steps.  
“Final chance, Arthur,” Nikolai says, tone bored and impatient.  
Arthur doesn’t answer, staring at the kitchen door as Gilbert appears, “Who’s she?”  
“Rhiona,” Nikolai snaps, “You knew her as Erin.”  
“Oh, okay,” Gilbert says, “And who’s that?”  
“You don’t need to know everything!”  
Gilbert holds up his journal pointedly. Nikolai growls, forcing himself to calm down; lips pursed, shoulders heaving, eyes wide; an expression Gilbert grew used to back when he’d lived with Ivan. “I will get to you in a minute, Gilbert; I am busy.”  
Gilbert nods, retreating back into the kitchen, almost barreling Rhiona over as she tries to slink past him, making Gilbird twitter in alarm. She barely notices him as he apologises, slipping straight past him into the living room, putting the vodka down on the coffee table. She puts a large glass down next to it and pulls a can of draught out of the apron’s pocket, cracking it and pouring it into the glass as it froths up. Seamus straightens up at the crack, awake and alert.  
Seamus seems smaller than Sean, and much more weather-beaten. His work overalls are more patch than original fabric, his boots are old and dirty, his hands are scarred and discoloured from manual labour. Rhiona hands him the drink silently, and he drinks a good half in one go before slamming it down on the table with a loud burp.  
“Pleasant,” Arthur mutters, and Nikolai snorts a laugh.  
“He might not be polite, but he’s the most hard-working person I know,” Nikolai says, “When he wants to be. Of course, Oliver knows all of this already.”  
Arthur doesn’t answer. Without a protest from the Brit, the red glow, becoming so familiar to Gilbert, consumes Arthur, and slowly peels away to reveal Oliver in his familiar distasteful ensemble; his shirt and wool vest in varying shades of pink, the faded bow tie, the ill-fitting trousers. His hair is bleached almost white, cigarette burns line his cheeks in a freckle-like pattern, his skin is blotchy with chemical burns, and his smile is so wide it looks painful, even more so than Ivan’s used to be.  
“Oh,” Oliver says, looking around, “This is what Yong-Su was talking about, isn’t it?”  
“Yes,” Nikolai answers, putting Oliver down carefully.  
“That explains an awful lot,” Oliver says breathlessly, rubbing his hands together.  
“Try not to think about,” Seamus says, slurping at his draught.  
“That’s easy for you to say, poppet,” Oliver’s voice is dangerously sweet, but Seamus just burps at him.  
“So we’ve got Arthur’s counterpart here, as well?” Gilbert asks from the kitchen door.  
Oliver blinks at him, “Yes, love. Oliver Kirkland.” He approaches the Prussian, hand outstretched. Gilbert shakes his hand cautiously, Gilbird twittering in worry.  
“This is Rhiona, this is Seamus,” Nikolai points to the twins, “Seamus, go and tell Gilbert everything that’s happened. Oliver, the kitchen is through there.”  
“Cake, anybody?” Oliver chirps.  
“Yep!” Seamus answers with a salute of his drink.  
Rhiona nods as Gilbert sits himself between her and Seamus at the coffee table. Nikolai doesn’t answer; Oliver already knows how fond Nikolai is of his baking. Just like Matt and François are fond of his baking. But they don’t really have as much of an option in that as Nikolai did.  
Gilbird flaps over to Rhiona, landing on her shoulder and chirping in her ear.  
“That means he likes you,” Gilbert says with a grin. Rhiona just give him an uncomfortable smile.  
“I’m starting to worry about Lutz and Lorenzo,” Nikolai says as Seamus finishes explaining Sean’s torture and the three transformations to the most awesome scribe in existence, “Lutz I know is lazy, but Lorenzo is taking longer than I expected.”  
“Elizabeta was one tough cookie, though,” Seamus says idly.  
“We want cookies, too?” Oliver asks from the doorway.  
“No,” Seamus says, beginning to explain when he pauses; “Yes.”  
As Oliver skips off, Lutz appears on the driveway, strolling lazily along with a body slung over his shoulder.  
“Lutz is back,” Nikolai announces.  
“Before Lorenzo?” Seamus asks, “That surprises me.”  
Nikolai pauses, staring at the ceiling as if he’s trying to remember something. “No, this is right. Lutz is back first, but he fucked up.”  
“Who’s he got with him?” Gilbert asks, peering out of the window.  
“He was sent to collect the Canadian representative,” Nikolai answers.  
“Birdie?” Gilbert asks, “You’re not going to hurt Birdie, are you?”  
“Only if he defies me,” Nikolai says plainly, “Get that written down.”  
Gilbert growls at him, but obediently sits himself down, scrawling in his journal. Lutz comes striding in, throwing the body down.  
“Morning, Matt,” Seamus greets. Nikolai is silent.  
“Wha…?” Alfred F. Jones, human representative of the United States of America, sits up, dazed and confused.  
“Lutz Beilschmidt, you have fucked up,” Seamus snaps at him, and Gilbert snorts in laughter as he writes that down, word for word.  
“Sie sah beide die gleich zur mich,” Lutz says with a shrug.  
“They look nothing alike!” Gilbert says with a snap.  
“Unsere Al und Matt sah mehr anders,” Lutz whines, “Al habt Piercings, und Matt habt mehr lange Haare und seine Sonnenbrille.”  
“Excuses, excuses,” Gilbert dismisses, and Seamus laughs.  
“He just doesn’t know these representatives well enough,” Oliver says calmly from the door, “He’s more familiar with ours.”  
“What’s going on?” Alfred asks, head whipping around, “Why do you guys look so weird?”  
“Because you touch yourself at night,” Seamus says bluntly, and Rhiona giggles silently at Alfred’s frown.  
“No, seriously though,” Alfred says, climbing to his feet. He scans everyone up and down, from Gilbert all the way around the room to Nikolai. “Have you had a haircut?”  
“Yes, Fredka,” Nikolai says sarcastically, “I have had a haircut.”  
“Thought so,” Alfred says with his American Smile™.  
“Fredka, we would like you to join us,” Nikolai says.  
“Doing what?” Alfred asks, suspicious, “And why’d you send Deutschmark over here to basically kidnap me?”  
“Because I and the rest of the second players are taking over the world.”  
“Woah, what the shit?! I thought you’d just gotten a haircut; I never thought you coulda gone 2p!”  
“I know, Fredka. Now shut up and let me turn you into your second player.”  
“Oh, hell no,” Alfred pulls his gun out of it’s holster, aiming at Nikolai. Of course Alfred open carries; he’s white so he can do that without getting arrested for ‘seeming dangerous’.  
“That is going to get you literally nowhere,” Gilbert says dully, “Sean tried, Arthur tried, Erin had a fucking bazooka. Just give up while you still have your dignity.”  
Alfred blinks at him. “Dude, what the hell has gotten into you? This is so unlike you, all good and submissive, just sat there with your little journal. It’s so… un-awesome.”  
“I’ve seen what this guy’s capable of,” Gilbert says with a shrug, “Pick your battles, Alfred.”  
“There’s a difference between picking your battles and giving up completely,” Alfred scolds.  
Gilbert shakes his head, “I thought I’d taught you well, back in your revolution days. But, no. Not only are you not listening to the advice of someone who has seen your ‘enemy’ firsthand, but you’ve completely taken your attention off the ‘enemy’ for several seconds. Would you like your situation in three words or more?”  
Alfred blinks stupidly at him, then looks across at Nikolai. The ends of Nikolai’s scarf are encircling Alfred waist, and tighten quickly around him, hoisting him into the air. Alfred shoots his gun, blinded as his sight becomes engulfed by a red glow.


	8. Alfred; Elf Council

“How is the cake?” Nikolai asks Oliver.  
“It’s a lie,” Seamus chirps.  
“It needs to bake, love,” Oliver answers.  
“I was hoping to give some to Fredka before he turns into everyone’s least favourite vegan,” Nikolai says with a pout.  
“But it’ll be wasted on him!” Oliver whines.  
“Can he lick the bowl at least?” Nikolai asks.  
“Doch will ich der Bowl lecken!” Lutz whines.  
“You can lick the next one out,” Oliver soothes. Lutz gives a little cheer as Oliver heads back into the kitchen, re-emerging with the mixing bowl.  
Nikolai takes the bowl, scraping the batter onto the wooden spoon and holding it out to Alfred, who grabs it with his mouth instantly, smearing the red batter across his cheeks, the greedy kid he’s always been. He pales, spitting it out and almost throwing up.  
“That tasted really metallic,” Alfred says, spitting a few times.  
“That’s because there’s blood in it,” Oliver says bluntly.  
“Where the hell did you even find blood in Ludwig’s house?” Alfred asks, shocked. The bloody batter has left a macabre red grin across his face, clinging to his lips and cheeks. Replace the blood with acid and that’s how the Joker got his scars.  
“It’s Sean’s,” Oliver answers, and Gilbert gips, Rhiona patting him gently on the back, promising to remind Gilbert not to have any of the cake. The cake may not be a lie, but it is fucking grim.  
“That is disturbing,” Alfred says, jaw loose in disgust, “You sick, sick bastard.”  
Alfred falls silent as his face suddenly twitches, muscles tensing and relaxing unwillingly, sending a flash of pain across his visage in the sudden spasm. A few seconds pass, and Alfred’s legs kick out seemingly randomly in a second spasm. A third spasm wrecks through his body, then they come quicker than anyone can keep track of, Alfred having a seizure in Nikolai’s scarf.  
It stops much like it started; slowing down until it has stopped completely, the body limp.  
“Fredka?” Nikolai asks.  
“What?” Al drawls.  
Al is more visibly built than Alfred. His skin and hair have darkened in the almost constant sun, his clothes only just fit him, and tattoos, seemingly gang tattoos, line his limbs. Several piercings shine from his face, including a snake bite piercing that his bar-punched tongue darts out to lick at his smirks in his lazily arrogant way.  
“That hurt, you bastard,” Al says, His voice is just as loud as Alfred’s, but has a more Southern twang to it.  
Gilbert snorts a laugh, “Your Russia and America don’t get on, either?”  
“Nope,” Seamus answers.  
“You fucking did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Al asks, laughing as he speaks, “You knew that’d hurt a bitch, so you did it on purpose.”  
“Yes,” Nikolai says bluntly, the scarf unwinding quickly, Al dropping several feet and landing in a heap on the floor in the least graceful way possible. The scarf flicks back out, grabbing the gun and whipping it away before Al can pull himself together.  
“Cake’s ready!” Oliver sings, holding up the tin with mitted hands, “It’s still a bit hot though, so be careful when you eat it. Rhiona, run and fetch me some plates, there’s a dear.”  
Oliver turns the cake out, cutting large chunks for Nikolai and Lutz, and healthier portions for himself and the twins. “Al?”  
“Nope,” Al says bluntly, “That cannibal shit is going no where near my mouth.”  
Oliver’s eye twitches, but he moves on to Gilbert, smile obviously forced, “What about you Gilbert, dear?”  
“Not hungry, thanks,” Gilbert says, forcibly polite.  
“I don’t care if you’re hungry or not,” Oliver’s voice is sickly sweet, “You don’t want to seem rude, do you?”  
“I think I can manage a small slice,” Gilbert says sheepishly.  
Oliver cuts him a fairly small slice, staring at the Prussian as he takes a cautious bite and pretends to chew, forcing a smile. As soon as something else, Al to be specific, has the baker’s attention, Gilbert spits it out, hiding the plate behind him and scrawling furiously in his journal.  
“And how is everything back home?” Nikolai asks Al.  
“Running smoothly,” Al says, “Matt basically took over, loyal little bastard he is. He was there, wasn’t he? When you and Ivan swapped over?”  
“Yes,” Nikolai answers, “Matt and Yong-Su were both with me.”  
“Oh, three-way?” Al says with an arrogant grin, earning himself a direct punch to the face.  
“So Matt got on with his orders,” Nikolai asks.  
“To the letter,” Al answers, blood now dribbling from his nose, “Walked to the middle of the village, and shot his rifle in the air. Fucking woke me up. And he just stood there, shouting “Operation Journal has begun! Operation Journal has begun!” with Ivan just stood behind him, confused as hell.”  
Nikolai snorts a laugh at that.  
“Natasha’s been helping getting the nations from this side settled into your little kingdom,” Al continues, “They’re confused and a little shocked, obviously. Yong-Su’s running himself ragged; he can’t decide whether to help or rub it in their faces that they have to believe him now.  
“Ivan’s been following Matt around like a little lost puppy,” Al’s grin grows, and laughter lines his voice, “It’s a little adorable. And Matt doesn’t seem to care. Almost like he’s used to huge-ass Russians following him about.”  
That comment earns Al a second punch to the face.  
“Matt was already aware of Ivan’s curiosity,” Nikolai says plainly, “And he’s lived with you; I’m sure he can put up with any ‘odd’ behaviours.”  
“He’s also put up with you for the last fifty years,” Al says, earning himself a third punch to the face.  
“Are they always this violent with each other?” Gilbert asks Rhiona, who nods in confirmation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt, Nikolai and Lorenzo moved into Lutz's house around the time Gilbert died  
> All the nations live together, in a large-ish village. Nikolai is in charge. Matt, Lutz and Lorenzo are his three main henchmen. Everyone has a role within this village.  
> Rhiona becomes Gilbert's main information source.


	9. Elizabeta; Devoted to God

The room falls silent as the front door slams open, followed by a screeching yell that send a shudder of fear and worry down Gilbert’s spin. Lorenzo comes striding in, nodding a greeting to Lutz and Nikolai, the feisty representative of Hungary slung in a lazy fireman’s lift over his shoulders, Elizabeta kicking and striking him wildly. He throws her down on the floor by the coffee table, not caring when she smacks her head on the floor.  
She climbs up angrily fast, grabbing the still-warm cake tin and holding it up over her shoulder in warning, glaring about the room. A cake tin is only a cake tin if that’s what it means to you. A cake tin can be a weapon if you so decide. Whoo, postmodernism!  
“Hungary, put the tin down,” Nikolai says gently.  
“No!” Elizabeta barks, bringing the cake tin down over Nikolai’s head, and pretty much everyone winces, some in fear some in anticipation of a fight, at the awful crack it makes.  
Nikolai barely even blinks. Seamus whistles; “I told you she’s a tough cookie.”  
Elizabeta turns around to smack Seamus as well but Gilbert beats her to it, knocking Seamus about the back of the head with an open hand, Gilbird ecking angrily at the redhead’s crown. Rhiona stifles her giggles at her brother’s yell.  
“Elizabeta,” Nikolai says, re-gaining the ex-knight’s attention, “We would like you to join us.”  
“No!” Elizabeta snaps, smacking Nikolai again.  
“We’ve all been through this,” Seamus says dully, pinning Gilbird down under his hand, “We’ve all lost, just give up now and keep at least some of your dignity.”  
Nikolai’s scarf wraps around Elizabeta, pinning her arms to her chest and squeezing until she drops the cake tin. Rhiona, after an encouraging kick from Oliver, snatches up the tin and scurries off to the kitchen to clean it. Elizabeta watches after her, recognising her as Erin, the closest thing she has to a ‘girl-friend’ to talk about their pasts as lady-knights fighting against men who thought they were incapable and defending men who called themselves gentlemen.  
Gilbird wriggles out from Seamus’s hand, giving the Irishman an angry peck to the thumb before flapping off to hide in Elizabeta’s hair. Elizabeta, confused, searches out Gilbert, who gives her an awkward wave.  
“Even you?” Elizabeta asks Gilbert, shocked.  
“Even the awesome me,” Gilbert answers with a sigh.  
Nikolai shakes Elizabeta. Much like Ivan, Nikolai doesn’t like to be ignored.  
“Why are you still you?” Elizabeta ignores Nikolai anyway, “Still your first player?”  
“Apparently my second player died, like, fifty years ago,” Gilbert answers, “So I had to stay like this.”  
“I want to stay like this,” Elizabeta says, finally reverting her attention back to Nikolai.  
“Liz is much more compliant,” Nikolai says plainly, “And much less violent.”  
“And she’s less yaoi-creepy,” Lorenzo agrees.  
“I’m not just some yaoi-freak!” Elizabeta snaps.  
“Explain the dresses!” Lorenzo snaps back, “Explain all the encouragement to show Roman the dresses!”  
“That happened in your universe too?” Gilbert asks.  
“It was so cute,” Elizabeta squeals, “And I was your big sister; it was my job to encourage your little friendship.”  
“By putting me in dresses?!” Lorenzo shrieks, and Lutz giggles.  
“It was really cute,” Gilbert agrees with Elizabeta.  
“Cupcakes!” Oliver hollers as he walks in, Rhiona a few steps behind, with a huge plate of the miniature cakes.  
“How in the name of God did you manage to get those mixed, baked, cooled and iced in this little time?!” Gilbert asks, completely confused.  
“This is actually quite slow for him,” Al says, “Probably because he’s in a different kitchen to his own.”  
“Are you hungry, Elizabeta?” Nikolai asks, more sickly-sweet than Oliver’s baking. Seriously, his baking is like some sort of demented juju of poison and cannibalism.  
Lutz laughs aloud. He clears his throat and speaks in English, accent thick with its German accent, almost as if he hasn’t spoken it for fifty years; “Is Hungary hungry?”  
Lorenzo face-palms.  
“No,” Elizabeta says, “From what I’ve heard from Young-Soo, your England has a bad habit of poisoning his baking.”  
“Would I do that to you?” Oliver asks.  
“Yes.” is the unanimous answer.  
“Eat one,” Nikolai orders, shoving one of the little cakes of horror into Elizabeta’s face.  
Elizabeta seals her lips together. Nikolai grabs her by the jaw, pulling until he’s forced her mouth open and forces the cake in, clamping the hand over her mouth, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise. Elizabeta simply glares at him, refusing to move her jaw and throat in any way.  
“It’s up to you; either eat the cupcake and join us, or we’ll go after your ex-husband,” Nikolai growls at her.  
Elizabeta’s eyes widen. A long pause for thought, and she swallows the metallic sponge, the unchewed chunks sticking in her throat and making her almost choke.  
“Eaten. Put me down now,” Elizabeta says firmly, a red handprint beginning to burn its bruising way into her cheeks and lips.  
“No. Have another,” Nikolai orders plainly, holding a second cupcake to her face.  
With a glare, Elizabeta manages to eat the second one herself, despite Nikolai shoving it in her face to hurry her.  
“Two’s enough,” Elizabeta snaps as Nikolai holds up a third.  
“But there’s so many left!” Nikolai says, Ivan’s dangerously innocent pout giving his voice a childish whine.  
“I can take them with me for later,” Elizabeta suggests.  
“What makes you think you’re leaving?” Nikolai asks sweetly.  
“I’m not staying,” Elizabeta says firmly.  
Nikolai huffs a silent laugh, putting Elizabeta down on her feet. As soon as the scarf unravels, no long supporting her weight, Elizabeta collapses to the floor with a cry of shock, Gilbird flapping away, twittering in alarm as he settles himself on Rhiona’s shoulder.  
“Are you sure you don’t want another?” Nikolai asks, crouching by Elizabeta and forcing the cupcake into her mouth before she can spit her insult at him. Which is a shame, I’m sure it would have been very scathing and sassy.  
Elizabeta glares as she forces the unchewed cake down, and she forces her limp arm to swing around, slapping Nikolai in the face, weakly but Elizabeta still smirks in triumph.  
“Not long now,” Nikolai says gently.  
“Fuck you,” Elizabeta spits.  
“No, it’s Lorenzo you fuck,” Nikolai says plainly.  
Lorenzo snorts in laughter. That red glow finally engulfs Elizabeta, spreading out from her stomach, and peels away again to reveal brown hair faded to ginger and brushed up into a bowed ribbon, green work clothes replaced by a pale pink dress and an apron, her built frame thinned down into something delicate and frail and so completely unlike Elizabeta that Gilbert almost can’t believe it, that this girl can call herself a version of Elizabeta.  
Gilbert cries onto the page as he writes “Elizabeta ‘Magyarország’ Hedervary replaced by Liz ‘Vengriya’ Hedervary, 10-11-14 16:37 CET”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Magyarorszag' is Hungary in Hungarian  
> 'Vengriya' is Hungary in Russian  
> '11-10-14' is the eleventh of October 2014  
> CET is the Centeral European Timezone, the timezone Berlin is in  
> LUTZ makes bad puns a lot  
> OLIVER is a cake baking machine  
> LIZ is mad for Lorenzo  
> LORENZO likes the *ahem* attention


	10. Francis; Frenchman

A click sounds from the kitchen door, and a deep sigh as a cigarette is lit. François leans lazily against the doorframe, huffing out a breath of smoke. François, Oliver’s babysitter and fuck buddy, is sickly-looking and unkempt, very different from the representative of France that Gilbert is used to. His stained clothes hang off his frame, his hair is unbrushed and dragged into a bunch tied with what looks like one of Oliver’s ugly bow-ties, his jaw is unshaven, his eyes seem to be trying to sink into his skull to hide behind the shadowy bags clinging to his eyelids.  
“Where the actual fuck did you appear from?” Al asks plainly.  
“The third circle of hell,” is François’s blunt answer.  
Oliver squeals a cheer as he glomps François into a tight hug. “I fetched him!”  
“How did you even have the time to do that?” Seamus asks, “Around the cake, the cupcakes, the cookies, whatever the fuck else you’ve been baking, as well as being as creepy as shit? How do you find the time to kidnap and magically turn a Frenchman around all that?”  
“You underestimate my abilities,” Oliver says plainly.  
“And my counterpart wasn’t exactly a challenge,” François drawls, “I wasn’t waiting anywhere near as long as I expected.”  
“Matt told you to prepare, then?” Nikolai asks.  
“Yes.”  
“Loyal little bastard,” Al grunts, “Ruski still following him about?”  
“He was. Matt was trying to get him to stay at the house with Ludwig and Feliciano, but I turned before that conversation ended.”  
“Any word on who’s next?” Nikolai asks.  
François laughs around his cigarette, “He mentioned Chuckie. He also mentioned that you would probably forget.”  
“You wanna know what I think?” Al pipes up.  
“No.” Is the unanimous reply.  
“I think we should overthrow Nikolai, and have Matt as leader,” Al says anyway. Did you think anyone’s opinion could stop Al from expressing his? Get fucked. “Just have that sweet-toothed, stoner lumberjack telling us all what to do. He’d much less of a penis than Doktor Psycho over here. Plus, it seems Matt is the only one who has any idea what he’s doing.”  
Nikolai kicks Al firmly in the ribs. “Shut up and fetch Peter.”  
“There’s only one problem with that plan,” Al says, smirking as he massages his throbbing side. That kick cracked the bones, at least.  
“And what would that be?” Nikolai asks, Ivan’s threatening smile splitting into his cheeks.  
“I haven’t a fucking clue where the little bastard’s gonna be. He’s a cunt to find at the best of times, but now other nations are going missing he’s going to be hiding.”  
“You’re right,” Nikolai admits begrudgingly, “We will have to lay low for a while.”  
“Yeah, that’s so going to lure him out,” Al says with an eye roll.  
Nikolai kicks Al a second time, and the crack of ribs is audible, “Since you’re only proving yourself useless, I am going to fetch Yao, and I am going to do it personally.”  
“Suits me,” Al shrugs, “I’ll just sit here with Uncle Seamus and Herr Steroids. And the others, too, I guess.”  
“Glad to know you’re thinking of us,” Gilbert snarls.  
“Where’ve Liz and Loz gone?”  
“Haben Sex,” Lutz answers bluntly.  
“Already?”  
“But I wanted to give Lorenzo a cupcake!” Oliver whines.  
“Nobody likes your cupcakes!” Al yells.  
“But they’re so pretty and delightful,” Oliver chirps, “Aren’t they, France-y?”  
François simply nods in agreement, taking a cupcake, completely poker-faced, as Oliver nudges him semi-encouragingly, semi-warningly with the tray of the cannibalistic ‘treats’.  
“Yeah, but underneath all that pretty icing and sparkles and unicorn piss, the cake is nothing but a lie!!1!” Al hisses. Don’t ask me how he managed to say ‘!!1!’ out loud, he just did.  
“Your death will be a lie because I will make it look like an accident,” Oliver hisses.  
Al dives behind Lutz, who pulls an expression that can only be described as ‘what the fuck?’. Or ‘was zum Teufel?’ since he’s German. You now know how to say ‘what the fuck’ in German. And you thought fanfiction couldn’t teach you anything.  
“Come on, Alfie-dear, I made one especially for you,” Oliver says, holding out a cupcake with a red and white pipe icing covered in blue fondant stars.  
“Nope!” Al says bluntly.  
“You know you want to,” Oliver says, and Lutz is trying to get out from between Britain’s answer to Hannibal Lecter and America’s answer to something.  
“Leave him alone, you bastard!” Seamus barks.  
“You’re all so silly!” Oliver chirps.  
“Sit down, Oliver,” François pulls on Oliver’s shoulder.  
“I’ll have a cupcake,” Nikolai says, taking a cupcake decorated with chocolate and yellow icing piped to look like petals; a sunflower. Sunflowers actually represent happiness. That’s two things you’ve learned now. Give yourselves a pat on the back.  
“Listen to you Frenchie fuck-buddy,” Seamus snarls.  
“Oh, I will,” Oliver sniggers. François rolls his eyes, dragging Oliver backwards into one of the armchairs, “Ohh, now, now, don’t be getting rough, France-y.”  
Seamus, Al and Gilbert all gip. Oliver pulls François into the armchair with him, their legs wrapping together and their bodies pressing against each other in order to fit.  
“Weren’t you fetching Yao?” Oliver asks Nikolai out of seemingly nowhere.  
Nikolai blinks. “I forgot.”  
“This is why Matt should be in charge,” Al says plainly.  
Nikolai kicks Al again, this time in the back of the knee. Al’s legs buckle, and he strangles Lutz on his own shirt as he pulls it, still using the German as a human shield from Oliver.  
“Somebody work out how to get Lorenzo down here without having to actually go into his bedroom,” Nikolai orders openly.  
Lutz crouches, pulling the shirt over his head as he does so, leaving his shirt dangling from Al’s clenched fists as he steps away and clears his throat, shouting in plain English; “Sorry, the princess is in the other tower!” Whoo, Italian/Mario jokes!  
A number of crashes sound from the floor above them, then down the stairs before Lorenzo appears at the door, completely naked, but for the sake of censorship a conveniently placed * insert name of a perfectly generic object here* covers his *insert Italian-themed euphemism for penis here, like ‘breadstick’ or something, here*. Use your own creativity, readers, I’m not doing everything for you. “What the fuck do you mean she’s in another tower?”  
“Do you want a cupcake?” Oliver asks.  
“No!” Lorenzo snaps.  
“Now that everyone’s back together, I’m going to collect Yao and Peter,” Nikolai says openly.  
“Did you really have to get me out of bed to tell me that?” Lorenzo demands, “I was getting laid, and it was fucking amazing!” Gilbert grimaces at his words.  
“Don’t forget again,” Al smirks.  
That kick goes into the ribs again, and knocks Al to the floor.  
“Why do you even have to get Peter?” Al asks as her rubs his bruising side, “Ain’t one not-nation enough for you?”  
“Don’t bully Gilbert!” Oliver scolds, “He’s much more useful than you. You, dearie, are almost completely expendable.”  
Nikolai rolls his eyes, slamming the door behind him as he leaves, Lorenzo heading back upstairs to Liz, much to Gilbert’s chagrin.  
“You look down,” Oliver says to the Prussian, “Have a cupcake.”  
Gilbert politely takes the cupcake decorated with mostly yellow icing until it looks like Gilbird, which only succeeds in making it more disturbing than it already is. As Oliver turns his back Gilbert tries to hide the grisly sweet, but a glare from François has him begrudgingly taking a bite of mostly icing. The sponge is red. That does not help the miniscule mouthful to go down.  
“Do you like it?” Oliver asks hopefully.  
“Ja, ja,” Gilbert answers as convincingly as he can, but it doesn’t fool Oliver in the slightest. But instead of reacting in anger like most people would expect of a gay Cockey cannibal, Oliver’s face screws up and he begins to sob, tears flowing quickly over his cigarette-scarred cheeks and his lips pulled back to show tea-yellowed teeth.  
François pulls Oliver into a protective hug, glaring angrily at Gilbert. “Shoosh, shoosh,” he soothes as Oliver sobs into his shirt, “If you stop crying, I’ll have a pillow fight with you.”  
“Wait, what?” Gilbert asks.  
Oliver sniffles, and the crying stops as quickly and suddenly as it started.  
“They’re always like this,” Seamus sighs.  
“I know what else we can do,” Oliver says to François, pressing their bodies flush together, “And it can involve pillows.”  
“Whatever could that be?” François asks, voice far too sultry for the question to have been serious.  
“They’re always like this, too,” Tommy says, and Seamus pats his nephew awkwardly on the back.  
“You’re all just jealous!” Oliver snaps.  
“Of what?” Al and Seamus ask in almost complete unison.  
“I get to play with France-y,” Oliver chirps, and François grimaces in embarrassment.  
“And why would anyone be jealous of that?” Al asks.  
“It’s fun, it make me giggle, and it feels really good,” Oliver answers, giving an example of one of his giggles. Of course, his giggle is really fucking creepy. I could go into much more detail than that, but it’s half past ten at night and I can’t be arsed, so “really fucking creepy” is the best you’re going to get.  
“You need to feel good, just borrow a magazine from this guy,” Al gestures to Lutz, “The pages are a bit sticky, though.”  
“Ew,” Oliver whines, “Wait, Al, how do you-”  
Oliver in interrupted as Nikolai barges back in, attention whore that he is. I bet he got that trait from Putin.  
“Cupcake?” Oliver offers.  
Nikolai throws Yao down onto the sofa, and takes a cupcake decorated with the Russian flag. I can’t be arsed with describing the cupcakes either. Nikolai takes the cupcake, and gives one decorated with a Chinese flag to Yao. I don’t know why Oliver made a cupcake decorated with the Chinese flag; I’m too tired to think of a reason. I should probably stop writing and go to sleep before this chapter gets any more incoherent.  
Whoo, cliffhanger!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yao is China  
> Peter/Chuckie are 1p/2p Sealand respectively


	11. Yao; Born on Thursday

I have thought of a reason why Oliver had made a cupcake decorated with the Chinese flag. It is because… he knew Yao was coming! Hahaha, I am a genius!  
Anyway, back to the story;  
Yao gingerly takes the cupcake, eyeing it then Oliver. “You are the ones Young-Soo warned us about.”  
“Ooh, I like the sound of that,” Al says, “‘The ones Yong-Su warned you about.’ Wait, no, the Yong-Su bit ruined it, uh… ‘The ones Korea warned you about.’ That’s better.”  
A scarf-end clobbers Al around the head, and Nikolai sighs. “Yes, we are the second player counterparts, as Yong-Su will have told you about.”  
“I should have believed him, shouldn’t I?” Yao says bitterly, “But no, I was a typical American horror film protagonist and told my little brother he was just being silly.”  
“We couldn’t believe Yong-Su for a long time either,” Oliver soothes, “Until Gilbert died, we just refused to. We thought he was having some sort of mental breakdown.”  
“I thought you said you’d always believed Yong-Su,” Gilbert says, shocked.  
“I may have exaggerated,” Nikolai snaps, “We’ve believed him for over fifty years, and that’s close enough!”  
“Calm down, poppet!” Oliver wails, “Eat your cupcake!”  
Nikolai takes a large bite from his cupcake, chewing happily. Yao takes a small bite, predominantly icing.  
“So, Yao,” Nikolai says calmly, “We would like you to join us.”  
“Doing what?” Yao asks.  
“We are taking over the world.”  
“I suppose I have no choice, aru.”  
“Really?” Nikolai asks, genuinely surprised, “I usually have to fight for allies-”  
“Yeah, you and that Italian are fucking psycho!” Seamus interrupts, pointing at his heart.  
“We do not use words like ‘psycho’ anymore,” Nikolai scolds, “And speaking of Italian-”  
“I’m here, bastardo,” Lorenzo grumbles. His overalls have returned, covering his Italian sausage or whatever other creative euphemisms you came up with last chapter, and a scowl drags his face down.  
“What are you so upset about?” Nikolai snaps at him, and Oliver shoves another cupcake into his hand, “I thought you didn’t like her?”  
“No, but Lutz bends over a lot less than you would imagine,” Lorenzo snaps back, and Lutz just laughs as Lorenzo flounces of to the kitchen to make pizza, because sexercise makes a man hungry, godammit.  
“Ich brauche ein gut, groβ Dick, danke schön,” he says with a grin, and Gilbert and Al whoop with laughter.  
Nikolai punches Lutz on the arm, and the German simply continues to laugh. Nikolai leans slightly closer to him and says quietly; “I am going to annoy Hungary.”  
Gilbert stops laughing abruptly. “I heard ‘annoy’ and ‘Hungary’ in the same sentence, and I am here to tell you that is not a good idea.”  
“It will be fine,” Nikolai says dismissively, “I know what I am doing, and you won’t even be involved. Don’t fret. Rhiona? Popcorn.”  
Rhiona skitters into the kitchen, skittering back with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn, fuck knows where she got that from and two bottles of beer. Lutz cracks the bottles on his teeth, handing one to Gilbert, sitting next to him across the settee with the popcorn in Gilbert’s lap.  
“Eliza?” Nikolai asks clearly, grabbing the pink imposter’s attention.  
“What?” is her only answer.  
“I am wondering if Lorenzo has outlived his usefulness,” Nikolai says calmly, “He is mostly a burden now.”  
“What? No!” Eliza snaps, shocked, “Don’t do that!”  
“But I can. And you can’t stop me.”  
“You can, but that doesn’t mean you should.”  
“I could just poison him,” Nikolai smirks, “He wouldn’t even realise what had happened.”  
“You won’t do it,” Eliza says plainly, “He's an important part of your ‘taking over the world’  
team, he'll just come back to life anyway, and if you do, you'll have to deal with a very angry  
German.”  
Nikolai looks back at the German brothers to find Lutz glaring coldly at him over his beer. “Ich kann eine kleine Dick fahrt auf.”  
“There was no need for that,” Gilbert says, nose scrunched up in disgust.  
“Alright. But there is something else I can do,” Nikolai says. Eliza and Lutz continue to glare at him, and Gilbert slowly edges away from Lutz.  
“What?” Eliza demands after a long pause.  
“I could torture him,” Nikolai says as casually as a greeting, “Or I could torture you with him watching.”  
“Ich mag das zweiten das,” Lutz says bluntly.  
“I’m not even sure what you’re trying to achieve anymore,” Gilbert says.  
“What’s going on?” Lorenzo appears, freshly baked pizza balanced in one hand as a half-eaten slice is folded in his other hand. “What are we talking about?”  
“Poison,” Nikolai answers shortly.  
“I don’t like poison,” Lorenzo comments, “I like knives. And fire.”  
“No shit,” the Irish twins retort in almost complete unison.  
Nikolai holds a bottle out to Lorenzo, giving Eliza a wink. “Drink, Lorenzo?”  
“Oh, grazi,” Lorenzo puts his pizza down on the coffee table, seemingly not seeing Eliza shaking her head at him warningly, or Gilbert’s worried glances flitting between him and Lutz and Eliz, or the way the beer bottle is practically cracking and breaking under Lutz’s grip.  
All three breathe a sigh of relief as Lorenzo pours the liquid straight onto the floor, staring evenly at Nikolai with a small smirk. Lutz grunts suddenly, mumbling something about “That explains that” and Gilberts frowns in confusion at him.  
“We all knew you weren’t going to fall for it,” Nikolai says pleasantly.  
“I didn’t,” Gilbert pips up.  
“Lutz, Lorenzo, come walk with me,” Nikolai continues,  
Lorenzo swings one of his knives between his fingers, “Sure, Boss.”  
“Gilbert, take over here.”  
“Wha…?” Gilbert asks, stunned. Gilbird stops pecking at a piece of popcorn to tweet in confusion. “I don’t even know what’s going on. You just tried to kill Lorenzo simply to annoy Eliza, and I am just really confused.”  
Nikolai hands Gilbert Ivan’s pipe, which Gilbert just stares at. “Annoy Eliza.”  
“I don’t really want to,” Gilbert says.  
“Don’t forget you are expendable.”  
“I’m the scribe.”  
“We can all write you fucking has-been bitch,” Nikolai growls, and several residents of the room wince at his tone, “You are expendable now stop defying me before this pipe gets put straight through your head.”  
Gilbert slowly takes the pipe, flinching a little at the numerous dents in it, and pokes Eliza in the side with it. She barely reacts, seemingly resigned to her fate of being poked by a Prussian. PruHun shippers can take that statement whatever way they like.  
With a nod of approval, Nikolai leads Lorenzo and Lutz outside. Seeming to know where he’s leading them, Lorenzo and Lutz runs ahead of him to the shed, snatching up tools as Nikolai waits outside, scarf ends writhing and twitching, shoulders tense, hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly in angered anticipation.


	12. Semi-unnecessary fight scene

Lutz and Lorenzo emerge from the shed, Lutz with a pair of scythes in his hands and a tool belt with an axe, hammer and a screwdriver hanging from his hips. Lorenzo has a chainsaw because why the fuck not.  
The pair circle Nikolai slowly. The hulking Russian is staring at the ground, the constant twisting and writhing of his scarf the only sign that Nikolai hasn’t turned to stone stood there on the muddy grass.  
Lutz lunges first. Scythes above his head, he swings the twin blades down as he leaps, aiming straight for Lutz’s head. Nikolai steps back, dodging, the curved blades digging into the mud where he had been stood. Nikolai slams one boot down, standing on the skythes and forcing them deeper into the ground, the other boot flicking forward into a kick to the side of Lutz’s head.  
The chainsaw revs up, Lorenzo holding it out in front of him, grinning as the weapon chugs away in his hands. Lutz reaches out, grabbing Nikolai firmly by the ankles and pulling, spinning his body around in the mud until his legs are wrapped around the back of Nikolai’s shins, the attacker-twisting move aiming to send the attacked sprawling on the floor; perfect for turning a standing matching into a floor match of grappling and wrestling.  
Unfortunately, the move doesn’t take magic fucking scarves into account. The scarf twists backwards, folding as it touches the ground, allowing Nikolai to tumble heels over head and upright again like a casual backflip.  
With a hound-like snarl, Lutz scrambles to his feet, dirt clinging to most most of his torso. He attempts to pull his shirt back down from it’s position twisted up just under his armpits, but ends up failing and just takes it off and tosses it away, because we all deserve a shirtless Weillschmidt in our lives.  
Lorenzo runs at Nikolai, swinging the chainsaw wildly. Nikolai swerves to get out of the way, jumping and spinning to throw a flying kick into the base of Lorenzo’s back. Lorenzo slips on the mud, having to throw the chainsaw to the side as he falls to avoid landing on it.  
Lutz has dislodged the scythes the grounds. He holds them in front of him, arms crossed and the scythes held down until the blades seem to be coming out of his elbows. He runs up to Nikolai, the Russian allowing him to get close in to him to strike. Lutz strikes at first with his elbows, made deadly by the blades of the scythes, then spins the scythes around to the more conventional way up for striking, elongating his limbs to be swung in tandem down and in, aiming for Nikolai’s neck at a high speed.  
Nikolai brings one arm up in front of his face, blocking Lutz with his forearm in the German’s wrists. He ducks as Lutz spins the scythes and folds his wrists to swings the blades into the sides of Nikolai’s head. Nikolai digs the fingers of his free hand under Lutz’s ribs, and Lutz buckles down. Nikolai seizes the bulky blond by the shoulder and the belt, tossing him to land next to the now standing Italian looking around for his chainsaw.  
The chainsaw being several meters away, Lorenzo grabs a couple of his knives, twirling them between his fingers as he walks sideways to the chainsaw, keeping a careful eye on Nikolai as he moves. Nikolai stands still for several seconds before surging forwards, Lorenzo just a few paces away from his chainsaw.  
The knife in Lorenzo’s left hand is thrown, Nikolai catching it in a bubble formed of magic. As the Russian gets closer, Lorenzo swings his right hand, aiming for Nikolai’s face. Nikolai blocks it with the suspended knife, dancing tauntingly around Lorenzo as the two knives are engaged in a violent battle akin to a sword fight, Nikolai often making the suspended knife slide down Lorenzo’s to nick and slice the skin of the Italian’s fingers. Lorenzo is holding it back, angling the knife to keep pushing it away, swerving and re-angling the blade whenever Nikolai tries to slide the possessed weapon along his own.  
Lutz dives up from the floor, the axe between his hands. He swings it quickly at Nikolai’s arm, the attacked man having to lean backwards out of the way even as he tries to step out of it’s path, the metal head missing Nikolai’s coated chest by mere inches.  
Lorenzo takes advantage of Nikolai’s distraction, diving to the floor suddenly, the possessed blade going flying through the air and embedding itself in the wood of the back door. Lorenzo reaches out, grabbing the chainsaw by his fingertips, desperately wrapping his long, tanned fingers around the handle and dragging it closer to himself. He revs it, the weapon whirring back to life, the chain spinning around.  
He leaps straight at Nikolai, who, with Lutz already attacking him with the axe from the front leaving him unable to dodge, reaches out reflexively with one end of his scarf, wrapping the woolen tendril around the chainsaw. Of course, whether the wool is magic or not, it’s going to struggle in a fight against metal moving at about sixty miles per hour. As valiantly as the enchanted threads fight, they are torn apart by the Muggle weapon, Nikolai howling in pain as though the tearing fabric is causing him legitimate agony.  
Nikolai kicks Lutz firmly in the side, tearing the axe from his hands, pulling the damaged end of the scarf close to his chest to cradle it in the undamaged end of the scarf. He spins, burying the head of the axe into the side of the chainsaw, the scarf-injuring weapon spluttering and choking into silence.  
Lorenzo once agains slips on mud, landing on his arse, as Nikolai shoves the axe and chainsaw into him, winding the Italian as he falls. A kick to the face, and Lorenzo is laid on his back. One hand in the air, Lorenzo yells “Give!” and is officially out of the fight.  
Lutz pulls the hammer and screwdriver off his tool belt, holding the screwdriver in his fist and holding the hammer looser in order to swing it about. He swings it up at the side of Nikolai’s head, thrusting the screwdriver at Nikolai’s ribs, aiming to puncture at least the skin, preferably the muscle and lungs too.  
Nikolai catches both hands, cracking his forehead into Lutz’s soft nose. He spins Lutz around, crossing the blond’s wrists. A kick to the back of the knees, and Lutz is allowed to buckle and fall, arms still suspended above his head. Nikolai twists his foot sideways, planting his foot firmly across the back of Lutz’s knees and pulling up on the German’s arms, stretching him out until he’s yelling in pain, eventually screaming, “Give! Give, Boss, Give!”  
Nikolai practically throws him to the floor, turning on his heel to walk away, gathering up the scraps of his destroyed scarf with his hand and a little magic, and walking back into the German country house with a leaving remark of “You both need a bath.”


	13. Kiku; Yellow Blossom

“Blue cupcakes!” Oliver shrieks, shoving a plate of the artificially coloured treats in Lorenzo's face as the tired, dirtied Italian slugs through the door.  
“What the fuck!” Lorenzo yells, falling backwards into Lutz, “When did you get here?”  
“I’ve been here ages,” Oliver says, “You’re the ones who came into the kitchen.”  
“Yeah, well, don’t do that.”  
“Do what? Be in the kitchen?”  
“No, don’t shriek like that. It’s fucking terrifying.”  
“But if I don’t do that you’ll ignore me, you big meanie,” Oliver pouts.  
“Because you’re always trying to stuff those evil cupcakes down people’s throats!”  
“France-y likes my cupcakes.”  
Lorenzo sighs, Oliver standing in the middle of kitchen making it impossible to pass him to get to the rest of the house and, more importantly, the bathroom. “Have you ever thought he’s just using you for cake and sodomy?”  
“No! France-y wouldn’t do that!” Oliver shrieks, “Would you, Franc-y?”  
A short pause. “...No.”  
Oliver stares at him for several long seconds before his face screws up and he starts to wail.  
“Broke up the couple, oh what a shame,” Lorenzo says, rolling his eyes as he shoves his way past the pair, Oliver crying into François’s shirt.  
“I need alcohol,” François grumbles.  
“Bier und Wein ins das Kühlschrank,” Lutz says, pointing to the fridge.  
“Yeah, but it’s Italian wine,” François retorts.  
“I beg your fucking pardon?!” Lorenzo yells, “You French are just too pathetic to handle anything strong and dry! It’s all fruit and sweet and red with you, and it makes you look like you had a lipstick mishap, and it’s ridiculous!”  
“Stick to pasta, little Italian. It’s all you’re good at.”  
“Which is why pizza, pasta and ice cream are eaten all over the world, but literally nobody eats snails except you.”  
“My food’s good!” Oliver pips up.  
“Shut up, pinky, the grownups are talking,” Lorenzo snaps.  
Oliver scoffs in offence.  
“Don’t listen to him; he’s being rude,” François coos.  
“I think you’re both rude,” Lorenzo grunts, “Disrespecting my wine.”  
“Aren’t you two supposed to be cleaning up?” Oliver snaps at them. Lorenzo looks across at Lutz, still standing next to him, still shirtless, watching the argument unfold.  
“Oy, Boss!” Lorenzo hollers into the next room, “Can I stab pinky and his fuck buddy?”  
“Sure,” is Nikolai’s answer.  
“What?!” Oliver shrieks as Lorenzo grabs a carving knife from Ludwig’s knife block.  
“Hey, François, still fancy some red wine?” he grins, “A hundred per cent French, I promise~”  
“You can’t kill France-y!” Oliver whines.  
“Yes I can. I’m going to kill him, cut him into pieces and scatter him so can’t heal and come back?”  
“Is that what you did with me?” Gilbert asks, making everyone jump. He sits at the kitchen table with a beer and a bag of salted pretzels because stereotypes, “The other me.”  
An uncomfortable silence.  
“Nein,” Lutz answers shakily, “Du war nur begraben. In ein Berliner Blue Sag, wie du wolltest.”  
“Buried in a Prussian blue casket?” Gilbert repeats, “That does sound like something I would want. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of differences between me and the other Prussia.”  
“Nein, gibt es nicht,” Lutz agrees shortly, “Entschuldigung,” he stalks out, closely followed by Lorenzo after throwing the carving knife at Oliver and François, causing the pair to throw themselves down as the blade embeds itself in the wood of the cupboard.  
“Lutz, Lorenzo, I have a job for you,” Nikolai says plainly as the pair get into the living room.  
“Fuck no!” Lorenzo snaps, “You’re already interrupted my sex once! Get Al or the twins to do it!”  
“Can I beat Oliver up for you?” Al pips up.  
“Yes.” Lorenzo answers.  
Al whoops, grabbing his nailed bat and dashing into the kitchen. He throws Gilbert out, locking the door behind him.  
“Weren’t you poking Eliza?” Nikolai asks.  
“Oh, yeah, uh, my arm got tired,” Gilbert defends pathetically.  
“Anyway, I want you to fetch Katyusha and Natalia,” Nikolai says.  
“I’m getting a shower and shower sex, so fuck off,” Lorenzo deadpans, stalking out of the room, Lutz following eagerly.  
“Fine. Gilbert, you are fetching Natalia,” Nikolai begins.  
“Oh hell no, she’ll stab me!” Gilbert interrupt, and Gilbird tweets in agreement.  
“Fine, you fetch Katyusha. But if you touch her or upset her in any way, I will kill you. Do you understand.”  
“Completely,” Gilbert answers.  
“And Eliza, you are fetching Natalia.”  
Eliza simply nods, following Gilbert out.  
Nikolai slumps down into his armchair, cradling his torn scarf. “Rhiona, vodka.”  
Rhiona hammers on the kitchen door until Al answers. “What?!”  
“Vodka,” she answers plainly.  
Some crashing in the kitchen, and Al hands Rhiona a bottle of vodka before slamming the door in her face and locking the door again. Rhiona gives the bottle to Nikolai and returns to sitting on the floor at Seamus’s side. Seamus and Rhiona seem to have ‘swapped over’; Seamus’s hair is now long and plaited and wrapped around his waist, Rhiona’s is short. Sometimes they ‘swap over’, just because they feel like it, whichever one is wearing the trousers being Seamus and whichever one is wearing the skirt being called Rhiona. Nobody overly cares; they’re both hardworking, no matter which one is wearing the trousers and which one is wearing the skirt. It seems to make them happy, they’re not hurting anyone, so Nikolai leaves them to it, even if he thinks it’s a little bit odd. Then again, most of his ‘kingdom’ could be described as odd.  
François can be heard from the kitchen, shouting something along the lines of “Go attack Japan, why don’t you?! And destroy that porn of his while you’re at it.”  
The kitchen door opens. “Yo, big-nose! Japan?”  
“Yes, yes, if it’ll bring a bit of peace,” Nikolai dismisses, and Al runs out of the house with a whoop.  
The house finally quiet, Nikolai leans into the corner of the armchair, curling his legs over the opposite arm. He falls asleep there like that, his damaged scarf clenched in his hands. Oliver gently puts a blanket over him, kissing him on the temple and just generally fawning over him until Seamus and Rhiona drag him away.


	14. Matthew; Gift of God

When Nikolai wakes, it is early morning. Lorenzo is sat on the floor munching on some cold pizza, now cleaned, fucked and happy. Lutz seems to still be in bed. Rhiona is asleep curled up in the opposite armchair, Seamus sitting on the arm of it with a coffee. Oliver and François are asleep across the loveseat.  
“So, when are your sisters arriving?” Seamus, short-haired today, asks.  
“Not for another few hours,” Nikolai answers, “Eliza and Natalia fight first, and Katyusha gets very upset and worried.”  
“What are you going to do with them?” Seamus asks.  
Nikolai freezes, staring into space with his eyes open, as if the answer is on the tip of his tongue but he just can’t quite remember, “I’m not sure.”  
“You’ve got to weigh up the pros and cons,” Seamus chatters, “Crybaby or dock fairy? Knife-wielding stalker or sleepy baby? Which would you rather deal with? I mean, you’re the boss; it’s not like you can fuck up, is it?”  
“Keep them 1p,” Nikolai decides, “Not putting them through that.”  
“That’s nice of you,” Seamus comments, “You’re not going 1p on us, are you?”  
“It’d make my job easier,” a voice pipes up.  
“What the shit?” Seamus looks around wildly, unable to see anyone.  
“Where are you, little one?” Nikolai asks, standing up, tucking the torn shreds of scarf into one of his pockets.  
“Not telling?” the voice teases, “But I’m gonna save the day. I’m gonna be the hero for once!”  
“America?” Seamus guesses, “But he’s gone to get Japan?”  
“Canada,” Nikolai says firmly.  
“Who?” Seamus asks.  
“Yay! I’m remembered!” Matthew cheers, “Wait, no, that’s not a good thing.”  
“Show yourself, little Canadian,” Nikolai says.  
“No! I’m going to save the day!”  
Nikolai scans the room, eyes narrowed. Something pulls on his coat and he spins, punching out, connecting hard with something. Rhiona stares up at him from the floor, lip bloody, and Seamus facepalms.  
Matthew laughs, “I’m not going anywhere near you. You’re not getting your hands on me.”  
“You’re getting on my nerves,” Nikolai growls. The temperature drops, the floor and walls frosting over with branches of ice.  
“I’m Northern like you,” Matthew sighs, “I’m fine with the cold. Ice sport is the only reason I get noticed at all.”  
“That’s the idea,” Nikolai says impatiently, “Hockey match, one on one. If I win, you turn 2p. If I lose, I and the others return to our world and leave you alone.”  
“It’s a deal,” Matthew materialises a few yard in front of Nikolai, “But no cheating! No, magic, no ice-bending, and use a wooden hockey stick, not your pipe like you tried to last time.”  
“But that match was so much fun,” Nikolai grins.  
Seamus produces a pair of hockey sticks from somewhere in the house. He is able to do this because coincidences are useful to the writer. The ice skates, Nikolai has to produce with magic. Useful magic is useful.  
“Aren’t we going to need a referee?” Matthew asks,  
“Seamus can referee,” Nikolai says.  
“But I don’t know anything about being a referee!” Seamus shrieks.  
“And he’ll be on your side!”  
“Like fuck I will!”  
“Really? Okay, Seamus can referee.”  
With that sorted, the match begins. And I’m going to put that in a separate chapter because I am an ass.


	15. Canada v Russia; Round One

Seamus seems almost frightened as he throws the puck. Wise man.  
Matthew is on that poor puck like a rat up a drain pipe, like a cat on a red dot, like a Canadian on a Horton’s coupon. Nikolai tries to block him, but the agile Canadian dodges smoothly around him and dashes toward the goal, Nikolai hot on his cold heels, striking at the puck to no avail as Matthew defends every blow.  
Until eventually, Nikolai barrels into Matthew’s side and steals the puck, turning sharply and skating towards his own goal. Matthew climbs up, much to the shock of the spectators, and dashes towards the Russian goal too, straight past Nikolai to defend the goal.  
He blocks the strike to the goal. How he did that without pads on and still not getting an injury, the world may never know, because nobody’s taking notes in Gilbert journal. Matthew does nearly fall over though, and Nikolai is proud of that.  
As Matthew begins to dash to the Canadian goal, Nikolai takes a leaf from his neighbour’s book and beats him there, blocking the goal. Matthew pauses, the hulking Russian taking up most of the goal, too much for Matthew to aim wildly at the goal. Besides, he doesn’t trust the Russian not to cheat. This Canadian isn’t familiar enough with this Russian to know that he is a brutally honest man. This Russian’s Canadian reckons it’s one of the Russian’s few good qualities.  
With a deep breath, Matthew hits the puck. Nikolai stops it with his leg. The fact that the Russian, after surviving bazooka attacks, a chainsaw to the scarf and a mine collapsing in on him (spoiler alert) , is unhurt by a puck should come as no surprise to anybody.  
Nikolai smacks the puck. Hard. It glides straight past Matthew, and goes into the Russian goal. And there was no magic involved, either.  
“Uh, one-nil, Rus-Can,” Seamus calls.  
The puck is brought back to the Irishman, and he tosses it again.  
Nikolai grabs it first this time, skating left to his goal with Matthew jabbing uselessly after him. Until the Canadian plays dirty, hooking his foot around Nikolai’s ankle and tripping him, dashing off with the puck and scoring while Nikolai is still picking himself up.  
“One-all,” Seamus calls.   
Nikolai scowls at him, and Seamus somehow doesn’t shit himself. The scowl melts into a thoughtful frown, then a smile of realisation, then a pokerface. That man’s heart is absolutely on his sleeve. Well, maybe not, but it definitely isn’t in his chest.  
Seamus throws the puck again. Matthew retrieves it, skating to his goal and hitting the puck toward the magic-ice rectangle. Nikolai, also bending the rules to suit his needs, Seamus not being familiar enough with hockey to know what is or isn’t cheating, throws his hockey stick, the chunk of wood spinning across the ice and barricading the goal before the puck can get there. I’m pretty sure that breaks several laws of physics, but whatever.  
“What?” Matthew shrieks, because Canadians are good at getting upset over hockey, “No, you have to be attached to the hockey stick! And how did you even do that- there has to have been magic involved in that!”  
“I’m pretty sure there was magic involved,” Seamus agrees.  
Matthew skates over to the goal, throws Nikolai’s stick back at him, and knocks the puck into his goal.  
“Two-one, Can-Rus,” Seamus calls. Nikolai doesn’t appear to give a shit.  
Nikolai gets the puck on this toss. Matthew manages to knock it away from him in a random direction, but Nikolai gets it back again, pausing only to think for a second. Matthew steals the puck, but Nikolai trips him, sending the puck off once again in a random direction. He scores a goal with Matthew still sprawled on the ice.  
“Little Canadian,” Nikolai says pleasantly as he skates back to his opposition and referee, “I would have thought you want to join me. I would have thought you would want to get back at America for all the pain he caused you and your family.”  
“Don’t try to talk me into anything,” Matthew says shortly, “It’s two-all.”  
“I want to punch him too,” Nikolai continues. He’s as stubborn as an American sometimes. “I want to punch a large amount of the Western nations. Don’t you?”  
“I am one of the Western nations,” Matthew answers firmly, and Nikolai is reminded of his own representative of Canada with the tightened eyes and the loosened jaw creating an expression of annoyance and boredom rolled into one, “And if I wanted to punch America, I’d go punch him. He’d forget within a few hours anyway.”  
“Doesn’t that make you want to hurt him?”  
“I have.”  
“Does he remember it?”  
Matthew doesn’t answer. The silence is broken by the puck smacking the ice after Seamus tosses it again.  
Nikolai grabs it, skating widely around Matthew. But the Canadian seems to have been upset by the previous conversation, and slams into Nikolai, body-checking him into the wall.  
With a growl, Nikolai is up again, chasing Matthew, only just getting to the goal in time to block the strike. As he heads towards the opposite goal, Matthew barges straight into him, and he begins to chuckle.  
“You’re getting aggressive, little one,” he comments.  
“This is perfectly normal in Canada,” Matthew retorts, “Are you Russians afraid of a little bruising?”  
Nikolai’s answer is to barge into him, dashing to his goal. He knocks the smaller Canadian straight onto his backside, and scores.  
“Three-two, Rus-Can!” Seamus calls, “How long do these things last, anyway?”  
“How about a death round?” Matthew suggest.  
Nikolai nods his agreement with a sly smile that none of the second players would trust, and skates to face the Canadian in the centre. Seamus tosses the puck.  
Nikolai barges the Canadian as he gets the puck first. Matthew charges after him, stealing the puck and turning sharply, gouging a semi-circular chunk through the ice and into the carpet. Nikolai has to skate fast to get to the goal before Matthew does.  
He is too late. The puck goes into the goal, and Seamus groans in fear.  
“We had a deal,” Matthew says bluntly, “Stop your invasion.”  
Nikolai swings the stick, cracking Matthew across the back of the shins and sending him to his knees. Alas! this Canadian does not know this Russian well enough to know that this Russian is a tricky bastard. Nikolai won the hockey match, three-two. Death rounds do not apply to the original conditions. Nikolai’s Canadian would have known to specify that the rules would carry across from the earlier rounds to the death round. But this is not Nikolai’s Canadian. At least, not yet.


	16. Canada v Russia; Round Two

“Kamanaka!” Matthew yells, “Sic Vodka-man!”  
Nikolai snorts in laughter as the bear cub bristles, growling. “That little thing is not going to hurt me.” Seamus and Rhiona laugh with him. Oliver doesn’t.  
The laughter dies sharply as Kumajiro grows rapidly, fur rippling and growl deepening, into a full-sized polar bear.  
Nikolai takes out the Lorenzo-stolen knife, the same one used to carve Sean’s heart out of his chest, and plants it firmly into Matthew’s hand, lodging it between the thin bones there. Matthew yells in pain, clearly having faced little to no torture before. Kumajiro rears up onto his hind legs, leaning on Nikolai and settling his jaws warningly around the Russian’s head.  
“You remove this, or I tell him to bite,” Matthew warns.  
“You tell him to bite and I will force you and your 2p out as slowly and painfully as I can manage,” Nikolai warns back.  
“He bites and you’ll be dead, at least long enough to settle back into Ivan.”  
“I have an army, including your darling Papa, Dad and brother, who will continue in my place, even if they don’t turn me back.”  
Red magic wraps around Matthew, forcing itself inside of him through the open wound. But no matter how hard he tries, Nikolai cannot turn Matthew into Matt.  
Growling in frustration, Nikolai wrenches the knife it’s sheath in Matthew’s hand, extracting another cry from the younger nation, and stabs upwards into Kumajiro’s lower jaw. The bear whimpers, pulling away just enough for Nikolai to give an almighty shove, sending the huge animal sprawling onto the floor, the shock causing Kumajiro to shrink in size.  
Nikolai seizes the cub from the floor, holding up in front of Matthew and holding the knife by a little white ear. “If you do not do as I say, I will kill your little bear.”  
Matthew snorts, and Kumajiro is silent. “That’s not going to help your situation in the slightest.”  
Nikolai frowns in confusion, Kumajiro struggles in his hand, his short limbs unable to reach behind himself to swat the gloved hand away. It is as the bear wriggles that Nikolai notices the blood dripping from Kumajiro’s paw.  
Experimentally, he digs the knife into the side of Kumajiro’s ear. Kumajiro roars in pain, just covering the hiss Matthew makes. But no amount of noise can cover the Canuck’s wince, or the blood beginning to drip from his ear.  
Nikolai puts the knife back in his pocket, grabbing Kumajiro tighter and coddling him like a baby, too tight for the bear to be able to struggle. “So strange. You can never even remember each other’s names, yet you have this odd bond between you.”  
“What’s it to you?” Matthew spits.  
“Don’t you want to make sure no one forgets your name ever again?”  
“Not through any method you’re suggesting!” Matthew moves to stand up, but Nikolai kicks him in the shoulder, knocking him back down again, and clamps a boot down onto a straightened knee, effectively pinning the smaller nation to the floor.  
The scene is interrupted by Al appearing, dragging Kuro, the second player representative of Japan, by his collar, both men bruised and bloody, Al grinning like a kid on Christmas. “Yo, dudes, dudettes and Ruski. What’s going on?”  
“I have Canada,” Nikolai answers plainly.  
“Oh, cool, Lutz’ll be happy a-boot that, ja?”  
“Stop speaking.”  
“Or stop breathing,” Kuro adds, and Al kicks him in the chest.  
“However, my usual methods are not working,” Nikolai muses aloud, “I think it’s because my scarf is damaged.”  
“The world does not revolve around your magic fucking scarf,” Al snaps.  
“It sort of does, actually,” Kuro retorts, removing himself from Al’s grip, “It is a solid form of magic. And if it is damaged, then surely the magic will be ‘damaged’ also.” That is totally how magic works.  
“Oh, whatever, leave the Ruski to his bullshit and fight me, bitch!”  
Kuro chases Al out of the room and upstairs, Al hooting and hollering in that stereotypical Southern American way. Nikolai stares after them, lost in thought until there is a tug on his trouser leg.  
“Please let me up,” Matthew whimpers, “Please, you’re crushing my leg.”  
“This is nothing, little Canadian,” Nikolai snaps down at him, “Be quiet and take it like an adult.”  
Matthew whines, smacking Nikolai’s shin to try to push him away. Nikolai twists his leg, grinding the heel of his boot down into Matthew’s knee, and both Matthew and Kumajiro cry out.  
“On second thought, come along,” Nikolai wraps the undamaged end of his scarf of evil around Matthew’s neck and torso and pulls him up, ‘remembering’ to take his foot of Matthew’s knee after the Canadian yells in pain. ‘Remembering’ is in inverted commas because Nikolai didn't forget, he’s just a dick.  
He drags/carries/leads Matthew into the kitchen, where Oliver sits on the table, holding François close against him, snuggling their bodies together, noses pressed against each other, François murmuring away in that crackly smoker’s voice of his, Oliver giggling at regular intervals at whatever blasphemous things François is saying. A pile of dishes, predominantly mixing bowls and piping bags, soak in the sink, stacks of cupcakes and cookies litter the sides, and the shelves of the oven are crammed with baking tins.  
Matthew blatantly ignores Nikolai as the Russian takes a cupcake from one of the stacks and holds it out to him. He drops Kumajiro to the floor to take a second cupcakes, and the cub skitters away, vanishing into the house.  
“It’s maple syrup flavoured~” Nikolai taunts, making both François and Oliver jump in shock.  
“Don’t want it,” Matthew answers shortly.  
“Oh, come on, the human body needs to eat.”  
“I ate earlier, I’ll be fine.”  
“Fine. Then I will starve you.”  
“I’d rather starve than join you. And even if you force-feed me that shit,” Oliver scoffs in offence at the Canadian’s words, “It won’t do anything.”  
“Oh, you’re so silly,” Oliver fawns, danger lacing his words, the Cockney cannibal a little offended by the stubborn Canuck. François bristles at the tone, an involuntary wince warping the unshaven face.  
"At least I'm not some fucking psychopath!" Matthew snaps back.  
Both Nikolai and François pull a face; François of fear, Nikolai more of amusement and anticipation.  
"We stopped saying that a while ago on my planet, sweetie(:" Oliver says. He says the (: and everything. It's one of those emoticons that you can just hear. "But I sometimes forget how behind you lot are."  
"Watch yourself," Nikolai growls.  
Oliver's smile has never been more forced. "I think you ought to apologise, Matthew."  
"I'm sorry," Matthew says. Fucking Canadians.   
"I won't accept your apology until you eat a cupcake," Oliver insists, grabbing on of the many plates of the grisly sponges of evil, " I even made your favourite; red velvet, with a gooey maple syrup centre~"  
"I don't want one, thank you, sorry," Matthew says, trying to back away but only succeeding in colliding with Nikolai, the Russian's heavy hand clamping down on his shoulder, sending a shock of pain down into his injured knee, gripping him like a vice to hold him in this Hell's Kitchen.  
"Eat it," Oliver insists.  
"No."  
"Eat it.  
"No!" And, unable to back away, the pacifist resorts to lashing out, swinging a hand out wildly. The desperate move become an open handed slap straight across Oliver's face, and the Cockney's head rolls straight off his shoulders onto the floor.  
Nikolai leads Matthew to the kitchen sink to throw up, holding back the long, curly hair like a college girl looking after her hot mess friend.  
"He should not be able to do that," Matthew mumbles between heaves, "He should not be able to do that."  
"Well, he can," Nikolai says plainly.  
"How is that even possible?"  
"Simple. He is dead. We all died a very long time ago."


	17. Canada v Russia; Round Three

“You must be hungry now,” Nikolai coos, dragging Matthew back across the kitchen. Franҫois helps Oliver to organise his head back onto his shoulders, retying the ugly bowtie tight.  
“You’re dead,” Matthew says dumbly.  
“Yes, that’s what I just said,” Nikolai answers.  
“But if you’re dead, how are you alive?”  
“Our lands are still alive,” Nikolai says, picking up one of the cupcakes, “Of course, my Canada knows this already. Eat.”  
“No.”  
“Oh, you’re so silly,” Oliver coos over Matthew, patting the Canadian on the head, smile too wide to be sincere, teeth grinding together in irritation.  
“You look hungry,” Nikolai prompts.  
“Nope, I’m fine,” Matthew answers shortly, “Not hungry. Nope.”  
“Fine,” Nikolai slings Matthew down into one of the kitchen chairs, “Why don’t we discuss a little Canadian history?”  
“Are you sure,” Matthew frowns, “Surely if you’re from a different universe, your Canadian history and my Canadian history will be completely different.”  
“A sensible hypothesis, little Canada, but it is wrong.”  
“All you need to know is British Empire, maple syrup, Justin Bieber, up to date,” Oliver says bluntly.  
“The Empire’s gone in this world,” Matthew says.  
“In our world also,” Nikolai adds.  
“I still have parts of it!” Oliver shrieks.  
“Arthur does this too,” Matthew mumbles.  
“You shut your mouth, you horrible young man!” Oliver snaps.  
“Sorry.”  
“I will poison you.”  
“I won’t eat your food.”  
“You rude little man!”  
“Sorry.”  
“I’ll eat them,” Nikolai interrupts the argument. Fucking attention seeker.   
“Yeah, you eat them,” Matthew encourages, pushing a plate of the monstrosities towards him. Knock yourself out, you greedy hoser. Knock yourself the fuck out.  
“Just not the red ones!” Oliver cries as Nikolai picks one of the red ones up, “Those are for France-y!”  
“Part of me wants to know what’s in them,” Matthew says, “Parts of me really, really doesn’t.”  
“Viagra, mostly,” Oliver says bluntly, “Few other things too, just for my enjoyment.”  
“Yeah, I just decided I didn’t want to know,” Matthew shudders.  
“Tell me about France,” Nikolai says, “Your France.”  
“Papa… he was French. Taught me about love. Taught me French. Killed a lot of my native people. Made me wear ridiculous clothes. Drank a lot of wine.”  
“Not the best parent, then.” Nikolai states.  
“Not good, not bad. Arthur wasn’t better, wasn’t worse. It’s all bittersweet.”  
“Anyway!” Oliver snaps, dragging the conversation away from his mediocre parenting, “What’s taking Gilbert and Eliza so long?”  
“Where are they?” Matthew asks, hoping for some sort of European hero(ine).  
“Eliza is in Belarus, Gilbert is in Ukraine, fetching the respective representative,” Nikolai answers.  
“Okay, so Elizabeta is dealing with a knife wielding maniac, and Gilbert’s dealing with either a flood of tears or has been glomped is trying to breath.”  
“We stopped using words like ‘maniac’ a long time ago on my planet,” Nikolai scolds, “And it is Eliza, not Elizabeta.”  
“But it’s Gilbert? My Gilbert?”  
“Yes.”  
Matthew smiles. Oliver shoves the cupcakes at him, but Matthew shoves it away again. “No cupcakes!”  
“I will have one,” Nikolai says, taking a blue one.  
“I hope you choke on it,” Matthew growls.  
“Shut up or I will force you to eat one,” Nikolai growls.  
“Honestly, Matthew, you’re so rude,” Oliver scolds.  
“Oliver, go… do whatever,” Nikolai dismisses the Cockney, “You know which room is mine, so stay out of it. Don’t use the basement, you’ll upset Lutz. Any other room will be fine. Knock first, I’m not completely sure where Lutz and Lorenzo are or what they’re doing. Probably each other. So knock.”  
Oliver leads François out by the hand, skipping as he goes. Matthew almost throws up again.  
“Eat,” Nikolai insists.  
“You’re as stubborn as Ivan,” Matthew says boredly, refusing the offered ‘treats’, “And you’re both assholes.”  
“That was a very bad choice of words there, little Canada.”  
Matthew glares. “Assholes. The pair of you.”  
“I don’t really care,” Nikolai says bluntly.  
“Wouldn't it be easier for you if you got on better with people?” Matthew asks.  
Nikolai half-laughs, “You’re trying one of my own tactics on my now, little Canada? That’s cute. I would be a good mentor, I think.”  
“Not really.”  
“I think I’d be a better mentor to you than France and England. I’d remember you were there, for a start.”  
“Sounding a bit over-confident.”  
“I remembered my Canada when I was mentoring him. I remembered you during the wars. So yes, I am confident in my memory.”  
Matthew glares, grabbing one of the cupcakes and throwing it at Nikolai. “Hoser.”  
“Rude.”  
Matthew throws another cupcake.  
“You are being childish.”  
Another cupcake.  
“You are wasting food.”  
Another cupcake.  
“You could be eating those, little Canadian.”  
The empty plate is flung at Nikolai’s face, and he easily swats it away.  
“Oliver will be very upset.”  
“I’m sure his precious France-y will be able to cheer him up again.” Matthew tries to shove the table into Nikolai, the Russian setting his feet down in front of the table legs to stop the wood from hurtling straight into his soft stomach. Not that that would have done a whole lot anyway, but you've got to give Matthew points for effort, even if all he succeeds in doing is pushing his own chair backwards across the tile floor.  
Nikolai reaches backward, picking up a plate of cookies from the side. “Eat.”  
“I’m not hungry.”  
“They’re maple syrup flavoured, just for you.”  
“Nope. Still not eating it.”  
“I can’t sit around all day arguing with you. I have a world to take over. Al! Get in here!”  
A series of crashes resound through the house. The door swings open, Al standing there covered in blood, both his and Kuro’s, his lip swollen, his clothes eschewed and his nailed bat swinging from between his fingers.  
“I am going to speak to the General,” Nikolai says, “Keep an eye on the Canadian.”  
“Sure, Boss,” Al grins, waving the bat at Matthew in warning.  
The house seems to rise a little in temperature as Nikolai leaves. It also falls into a silence, Matthew fussing over Al and Kuro and administering first aid to fill time and hopefully create noise. Above him, a mix of thuds, groans and other questionable noises ring out. Matthew can’t tell if the noises are coming from Oliver and François or Lutz and Lorenzo, and he really doesn’t want to find out.


	18. Russian Winter

The General’s home is a huge, vast palace of a mansion, built of ice then built upon and upon with new styles of architecture as fashions changed and differed across both time and cultures. This corner is a homage to the Romanov palace. This corridor is a homage to the castles of the Kalmar union. This room is a homage to British-Canadian forts. Walking through the palace is like walking through a cold history of the North. Artifacts, from toys to clothes to animals, float suspended in the ice walls, untouched by invasion or fashion or the death of their mother culture. And as Nikolai draws closer to the General’s quarters deep in the heart of the building, the temperature much lower than any mortal could hope to survive, the artifacts become more and more personal. Søren made those five dolls; himself and his brothers immortalised in the rags of their destroyed clothes. Matthew wielded that rifle in the battle of Vimy Ridge, still stained in Ludwig and Gilbert’s blood. That is Ivan’s badge of bravery from Bloody Sunday, holding no value to the Russian soldier after Anastasia’s death.  
The General is sitting in what could be called his drawing room. The furniture is Viking, some of Berwald’s earlier woodwork, and furs of different arctic animals, some extinct for centuries, have been thrown over the seating as the original fabric had worn away. Different flags, the flags of the nations the General has both ruled and protected over his time, cover the walls in a mad, disorganised rainbow of history and extinction. The earlier flags are discolored, the Teutonic flag now grey with age. The room is huge, but still seems small around the man seated in a chair, his grandness radiating a demand for respect, making even the most basic, primitive of items in his ancient room seem like the craftwork of gods themselves. A pane of ice balances between wrinkled old hands, and his wise, beady eyes stare down from a heavily bearded face. The ice is allowed to melt to water and drip to the floor between booted feet, dampening thick clothes.  
“You are not Ivan,” the General speaks first, an ancient Slavic tongue, “But yet you are.”  
“That is correct,” Nikolai answers plainly.  
“You have hurt one of my children.”  
“I am one of your children.”  
The General gestures for Nikolai to sit opposite him. He does, calmly and quietly.  
“It is difficult for me, when two of my children fight. I protect you both. But I cannot protect you from each other.”  
“I already know,” Nikolai says shortly, “Matthew is capable of protecting himself. As am I.”  
“I have seen. And I take great pride in the strength of my children. But you are already aware that too much strength is as dangerous as too little strength.”  
“Yes.”  
“Then why, false-Ivan, are you trying to repeat your past mistakes?”  
“Because this time I know what I am doing. And my name is Nikolai.”  
“You have had too many names.”  
“That’s because I’m old.”  
“And I am not?” the General asks with a laugh. Nikolai doesn’t reciprocate. “How do you know what you are doing?”  
“I have help from Canada. But much like myself, he is not your Matthew. His name is Matt. He holds great intelligence, as does Matthew. But Matt has the extensive knowledge that I need.”  
“So why are you here? Why not Matt?”  
“Matt lacks motivation. With encouragement, he can follow, but he is not a leader.”  
“Arthur has lead Matthew. Francis has lead Matthew. Gilbert is a leader, Søren is a leader, Berwald is a leader. They have all fallen, and so have you. Why are you the leader here? You are as much of a failure as the rest.”  
“Because I didn’t settle for failure.”  
“So uplifting. An inspiration. But magic abilities cannot have hurt your cause,” the General laughs again, and this time Nikolai laughs with him.  
“They have helped, yes, but are currently a hindrance.”  
“Yes, the Italian has succeeded in injuring you. Tell that to the Italians I am familiar with,” the General laughs again. Nikolai does not. "So, false-Ivan, you are here to ask for help with your magic?"  
"No. I am here to ask a couple of simple favours of you."  
The General frowns. "And why would I want to do that? You are not even mine."  
"Because you are curious. You want to know what will happen. You want to watch me rise and fall, because you have nothing better to do."  
"You make my life seem so dull."  
"You are not arguing otherwise."  
The General falls silent, and Nikolai doesn't break it, the pin-drop quiet as brittle and delicate as dry ice.  
"What would these favours be?"  
"To fetch a few nation representatives, and deliver them to the home of German and Prussian representatives."  
"Why not send one of your not-nations?"  
"It would be too cold for them."  
"You are asking me to condemn my own children?!"  
"They are already condemned, General."  
The General frowns, question hanging in crisp air without needing to be spoken.  
"Matt will explain it all to you when he arrives. Until then, I am perfectly happy to make an agreement with you; stop protecting Matthew and allow me to turn him into Matt, let him explain the plan to you, then we can discuss our allegiance further."  
"You do not need my permission to use magic on Matthew," the General's frown deepens, "I was not stopping you."  
Nikolai stares, expression caught between thoughtfulness and confusion. "You weren't?"  
"No. My protection wasn't needed. You are injured."  
"I am. It seems to have a larger effect than I thought."  
The room is silent for several minutes. The General produce another slather of ice, staring down at it, images of the Northern countries flickering across it like a looking-glass into their lives. It goes blank for multiple seconds. Matthew wraps a bandage around Al's arm. Blank. Alistair sits smoking a cigarette, seemingly muttering to himself between breaths. Blank. Søren is sitting in a library, reading fairy tales aloud to a group of children. Blank.  
"Kindly leave," the General rumbles.  
Nikolai stands, leaving silently.  
The slather of ice is blank. As soon as Nikolai leaves the room, his image appears on the ice, tracking him as he strides leisurely through the building.  
The General throws the ice across the room, angry and upset at not being able to see his Russian 'child', angry and upset at the imposter wandering through his building. The ice shatters into hundreds of shards, the noise ringing like a child tracing their finger along the rim of a wine glass to make it sing, and melt into the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soren is Denmark  
> Berwald is Sweden


	19. Katyusha; Pure

When Nikolai returns to the Berlin home, Lutz is sat with Matthew in the kitchen. An open, untouched bottle of beer sits in front of Matthew, almost flat and fizzless. A pile of empty bottles are heaped behind Lutz, another half-full bottle swishing in his hand as he rambles to the Canadian about something incoherent.  
"Yo Boss!" the German greets loudly, "Die nächste ist?"  
"Russia," Matthew suggests, "Take over Russia next."  
"I am Russia, silly little Canada," Nikolai pats Matthew on the head as he speaks.  
"Oh, yeah," Matthew mumbles, "You look different."  
And he promptly falls asleep, collapsing against Lutz.  
"Has he been awake all night?" Nikolai asks.  
"Yep," Al answers from by the fridge, "Insisted on playing Nursie to Japaneasy and me. Then Herr Steroids was all like "Beer! Beer! Ve all love beer!" and basically, Maple here hasn't slept, eaten, or even left this room."  
"Und er hat kein Bier getrünken," Lutz whines.  
"And where is Kuro?" Nikolai asks.  
"Locked him in the cupboard under the stairs," Al answers, "His arms and legs are broken and his head's caved in, so he's going to be there a while."  
"Gilbert and Eliza are not back yet?"  
"Nope."  
Lutz digs a phone from his pocket, "Gilbert ist unter das heiße 'Ost-some'. Eliza ist unter das heiße 'Thirsty'."  
"Dude, this thing is a piece of shit," Al comments, playing with the phone, "No games, no music, no selfies: just a load of numbers."  
"Das ist was ein Handy ist für."  
“Stop fucking about and ring one of them,” Nikolai snaps.  
“Oh, bitch-y!” Al sings, tapping the the buttons of Lutz’s phone. It’s a Nokia. Those can survive anything. Even the apocalypse and Russian magic.  
Several seconds of silence. "Yo Gil!... Commie wants to know when you'll be back with Boobies."  
"Do not say things like that to my sister," Nikolai growls.  
"I didn't, I said it to Gil," Al answers back, "Yeah.... He's getting really impatient..."  
"I will punch him if he continues," Nikolai hisses to Lutz.  
"Tun es," Lutz invites.  
"Yeah... Really impatient," Al says into the phone.  
"When is he getting back?" Nikolai asks impatiently. In case you haven't noticed, Nikolai is getting impatient. He needs to find some sort of cathartic hobby. Neurotypicals recommend yoga.  
"When are you getting back?" Al parrots to Gil. "Uh-huh... He's on his way back now, with Katyusha," he says to Nikolai, then returns to Gilbert; "Yeah, that's all. See ya."  
"There was no need to call me a commie," Nikolai growls.  
Al just shrugs in response.  
"Don't you shrug at me, you capitalist cockmunch. Go back to beating up Kuro."  
With a grin, Al dashes off, leaving Lutz, Nikolai and the sleeping Matthew to wait. Lutz downs the last of his beer, getting up to grab another one from the fridge.  
"Don't forget to leave one for Gilbert," Nikolai says boredom.  
"I heard my name," the King of Awesomeness (and his loyal bird companion) announce their presence.  
"Beer?" Lutz offers.  
"Ukraine?" Nikolai demands. Two men with two very different sets of priorities there.  
"Living room, with the Irish twins," Gilbert deals with Nikolai's priorities first. Wise man. "If there is one, fuck yeah."  
Lutz hands Gilbert a beer and the brothers sit down, Gilbert fawning over the sleeping 'Birdie' as Nikolai leaves to the living room. Katyusha, representative of Ukraine, sits on the settee with Yao and Rhiona, looking very nervous despite Yao's attempts to calm her. Nikolai gives Rhiona a dismissive nod and she stands up, gesturing for Yao to help her carry a passed out Seamus out of the room. At first, Katyusha is confused, until she spots Nikolai.  
"Little Vanya!" she cries, almost barreling 'Vanya' over as she tackles him into a snuggly hug, which Nikolai is more than happy to reciprocate.  
"Little?!" Al snorts from the doorway.  
"Go back to fighting Kuro," Nikolai snaps.  
"What!?" Katyusha asks, shocked, "You're not Ivan!"  
"Yes I am," Nikolai answers, and Al skips off. No he doesn't, he charges after Kuro straight up the stairs, howling like a rabid dog. Americans.  
"No, you're not," Katyusha pulls herself out of the hug.  
"Yes, I am, I am just the 'second player counterpart'."  
"That means you are not Vanya," Katyusha says stubbornly, tears welling in her eyes.  
"I am Vanya. Or at least like him. I will still protect you and love you as my big sister."  
"You lie."  
"No I don't. Quite a few of the 'second players' says it's one of my few positive qualities."  
"Ivan always protects his family. You are his opposite, so you don't; you probably hurt them!"  
"As highly as I value Yong-Su's word, he is terrible at explaining what he means. We are not exactly opposite, just different. Give me a chance, and I will prove that I am your little brother."  
Despite herself, tears are clumped in the corners of her eyes as Katyusha caves, nodding her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAKERTINA (2p!Ukraine) and NATASHA (2p!Belarus) hate their brother, despite him showing them every kindness he can, so he'll be spending a lot of time with Katyusha and Natalya  
> 'Ost-some' is a mashup of Ost (East in German) and awesome  
> 'Thirsty' relates to Lutz's jealousy of how much of Lorenzo's attention Lutz takes up


	20. Natalya; Birthday (of Christ)

Rhiona knocks gently on the door before she enters, carrying a large tray of drinks, Yao, Seamus, Lutz and Gilbert following, Gilbert clutching his journal. The men sit on the floor around the coffee table, Rhiona handing out the drinks; vodka for Nikolai, tea for Yao, beer for the German brothers, draught for herself and Seamus, and orange juice for Katyusha.  
“Cheers!” Seamus hollers, Lutz answering with guttural holler back and the others simply grunting. Katyusha thanks Rhiona for the juice, and takes a polite sip.  
The drinks freeze almost solid, glass cracking, as the General appears, a cold chill brittling the air around him. “Canada?”  
“Kein Glück,” Lutz sighs.  
“Matt is not here yet,” Nikolai tells the General plainly.  
“I am growing impatient,” the General growls.  
“You and me both, buddy,” Gilbert pips up, Gilbird cheeping in agreement.  
“It won’t be long, now,” Nikolai answers smoothly. Next chapter. Spoiler alert.  
The room remains cold as the General disappears. The drinks thaw out, but Seamus still manages to get brain freeze from his draught. Yao gets up to make himself some fresh tea.  
“What just happened?” Katyusha asks.  
“The General is going to be in allegiance with us,” Nikolai answers gently.  
“Oh, okay.”  
“Are you going to say anything other than ‘okay’?” Seamus asks.  
Nikolai glares at him. Seamus glares back. Rhiona drinks her draught, not caring about being in the middle of the glare-off. Regular day for her.  
“Don’t be having one of your stupid stare-offs,” Al scolds.  
“Shut up, Al,” Nikolai snaps at him, Katyusha startled by his tone, “Where’s Kuro?”  
“Closet. I’m gonna have to clean that shit up later.”  
“Warum?” Lutz asks.  
“Blood. Lotsa blood.”  
“Whatever, just get on with it before he starts to fester,” Nikolai dismisses. “Where is Eliza, she should be back by now.”  
“What’s she doing?” Gilbert asks.  
“Fetching Natalya,” Nikolai answers.  
“I could ring her, if that would help,” Gilbert offers.  
“How?”  
Gilbert stares at him, “Well, you see; I have a little machine called a phone,” he says slowly, sarcastically, “And Eliza has another phone, and phones have special numbers which you can give to other people, then you type that special number into your phone and press the button with the little green telephone and you can talk to that person through the phone, isn’t that amazing?!”  
Nikolai’s eyes narrow, “Get on with it before I put my pipe through your head.”  
Gilbert scrabbles at his phone, Katyusha edging away from her false brother. Gilbert throws the phone to Nikolai; “It’s ringing.”  
“Fuck off,” is Eliza’s greeting as she picks up.  
“Privyet,” Nikolai answers, dangerously cheery.  
“Oh, it’s you,” Eliza deadpans. Get it, pans? Sorry. “I thought it was Gilbert.” The first and second players have the same phone numbers, I am not just making this shit up as I go along.  
“The fuck is it?” Lorenzo’s voice asks in the background, Eliza shushing him.  
“Lorenzo?” Nikolai asks with a frown.  
“Ich habe gefragt, wo er ging,” Lutz mumbles. He had wondered where Lorenzo went.  
“But what about Natalya?” Nikolai asks, still dangerously cheerily, “Don’t tell me you haven’t got her?”  
“Uh…” is the only answer.  
“It’s alright, you can tell me.”  
“But you just told us not to tell you!” Lorenzo cries, and Eliza sighs.  
“You don’t have her? How far are you along?”  
“Well…” Lorenzo trails off.  
“We haven’t started,” Eliza admits. After several seconds of silence, she adds; “It’s Lorenzo’s fault!”  
“What have you even been doing?!” Nikolai demands, and Katyusha edges further away from him.  
“Eliza,” Lorenzo answers, “I have been doing Eliza.”  
“Lorenzo!” Eliza shrieks, and a sharp slap can be heard, “We’ll get on with kidnapping you sister now. Viszlát.” And she promptly hangs up.  
“Sind sie ficken?” Lutz asks, “Fondue Herstellung? Einer bekommen? Horizontal rennen?”  
“Stop listing euphemisms,” Nikolai cuts him off, “Yes, they were. Hadn’t even started collecting Natalya.”  
“Natalya?” Katyusha asks.  
“Yes,” Nikolai answers, not seeming to notice that Katyusha has moved almost an entire seat away from him, “Then the Baltics and Poland.”  
“Besorgen Polen ersten,” Lutz says, “Benutzen sie zu manipulieren Litauen, und dann folgen ihn ihnen Brudern.”  
A gasp from the doorway. Matthew stands there, coffee in one hand, staring in shock at Lutz and his plan to kidnap Feliks first and use the Polish representative to manipulate Torys, then the Lithuanian’s ‘brothers’ would follow him. This has reminded me that I have forgotten about Oliver and François. They’re probably fucking. If Lorenzo and Lutz/Eliza or Oliver and François are missing, just assume they’re fucking. There’s a ridiculous amount of characters in this, and I forget about them easily. Forgive me, I can only do my best.  
“When did you wake up?” Nikolai demands.  
“Just now,” Matthew answers, “Yao made me a coffee. He’s really nice.”  
Kuro dashes past him, Al in hot pursuit, Kuro’s katana sticking through his chest. Matthew, Gilbert, Katyusha and Yao are all thoroughly alarmed by this.  
“I thought you'd locked him up?” Nikolai asks. He is not alarmed by this.  
“No, just broke his legs, but the little bastard healed!” Al answers, chasing Kuro around the room, “And then he stabbed me when I was trying to clean him up, so ungrateful!”  
“Take it outside, there are first players here!” Nikolai scolds. The first players must be protected. Think of them as a children. Protect the squidgies.  
“Fine!” Al groans, dashing outside, Kuro turning on his heel to chase him.  
“That was weird,” Gilbert deadpans, Gilbird tweeting in agreement.  
“Yep,” Matthew agrees.  
“Den Mund halten, und trinkt Bier!” Lutz snaps.  
As Matthew and Lutz begin to argue about beer, Nikolai slides over to sit directly next to Katyusha and puts an arm around her, “Are you alright, star-sestra?”  
“Yes,” is the plain answer.  
“Are you sure?”  
“No,” Katyusha admits, “I want to go home.”  
“This is home.”  
“No, it isn’t. I don’t like it here.”  
Nikolai slides from the settee, crouching by her and resting his chin on her knee, pouting as he hugs her leg. Strange image, I know, but to explain it psychologically he’s making himself smaller, and therefore cuter, to try to appeal to Katyusha’s maternal instincts and her fondness for young Ivan. “But this is home, star-sestra.”  
“No, it isn’t,” Katyusha insists.  
“Please. Don’t you trust your little Vanya?”  
“You are not Vanya.”  
“You’re right. I am Kolya; a new version of your baby brother. Please trust me,” and the pout deepens.  
He jumps as a whistling ringtone sounds from Gilbert’s phone. Nikolai answers it to Lorenzo; “Ciao again, Boss.”  
“How is everything coming along?” Nikolai asks, head still rested on Katyusha’s leg, Katyusha too polite to try to push him away.  
“We told Natalya her Big Brother Russia wants to see her,” Lorenzo answers, “She’s on her way. And quickly.”  
“Put her on. The phone. Do not wear my sister.”  
“Not planning on it, Boss, Lutz gets jealous enough already. And she’s not here. She ran off towards Ludwig’s house.”  
Nikolai slaps a hand to his forehand. “Catch up to her. Do not let her get lost.”  
“I doubt she will,” Lorenzo’s smirk can be heard as he speaks, and he hangs up.  
Nikolai puts the phone down and sits back next to Katyusha, returning to cuddling her, “Natalya is on her way.”  
Katyusha manages a genuine smile. A frown pulls Rhiona’s face down as she seems to realise something. That I’m not going to tell you, because that really would be a spoiler.  
“General Winter?” Nikolai calls, and the General appears, scowling, “Fetch Toris.”  
“Ich sagte, Polen erste!” Lutz cries.  
“No,” the General says plainly, “Not until I have this explanation I have been promised.”  
“Canada is unharmed. Matt will be here when you get bored. I’d hate you to be getting idle.”  
The General growls in anger, vanishing. He is only just gone when the front door flies open, the scream of “Brat!” can clearly be heard. And by brat I don’t mean a shitty little child, but the Russian word for brother. It’s Natalya. She ran all the way from Belarus to Germany, because fuck physics.  
“Da?” Nikolai calls back.  
Natalya dashes in, diving onto the settee and latching herself onto Nikolai’s arm with her trademark chant of “Marry me, marry me, marry me,” echoing from her jaw like a creepy incestuous stuck record.  
“No,” Nikolai says plainly, “Siblinghood is much better than marriage.”  
“No it isn’t.”  
“Blood is thicker than water, sestrenka. And weren’t we close as children, what more could you possibly want?”  
Natalya pauses, thinking. “I suppose you’re right. Wait- you’re not Ivan!”  
Everyone in the room facepalms.  
“You didn’t notice?” Nikolai asks.  
“No, I just heard a Russian accent and followed it.”  
“You’ll go after anyone with a Russian accent?” Gilbert asks, “What the fuck?”  
Natalya doesn’t answer.  
“I am still your big brother, though,” Nikolai says gently, “I have the same past as Ivan, I am just a little different. You are still my little sister, and I still love you -both of you-” he wraps his arms around Katyusha and Natalya and hugs them close to him, “So much.”

In the other universe, Yakertina and Natasha, second player counterparts to Katyusha and Natalya respectively, sit together. Natasha washes her’s and Lily’s, Liechtenstein’s, clothes in the spring, sleeves of her pink dress hitched up to her elbows, hair tied up in a bunch with Lily’s old purple ribbon. Yakertina smokes a cigarette.  
“It’s happening,” Yakertina says emptily, “It’s happening right now. He’s there, with them.”  
“Yes,” Natasha answers plainly.  
“Do you think this is our fault?” Yakertina asks, “Do you think we could have stopped this from happening?”  
“How could we have stopped it?” Natasha demands, sitting back on her haunches.  
“We could have loved him. We could have been there for him, like siblings are meant to be.”  
A pause. “After Lily explained who he was, he became very difficult to love.”  
“We still could change it,” Yakertina says, “Ivan’s just there, in the village, wait for Matt to go and we can talk to him-”  
“Don’t talk to them!” Natasha snaps at her, “Do not get attached to them! It cannot, and will not, end well.”  
“It ended alright for you and Lily, didn’t it?”  
“Did it? Lily’s a soldier, and I’m basically her housewife. Neither of us can stand to be in the same room as our brother, Matthias hasn’t spoken in almost two decades, and Gilbert’s six feet underground. Nothing is going to end well, and we both know it. Our brother has done a terrible thing, and nothing we can do will change that.”  
She stands up sharply, throwing the damp clothes into her plastic laundry basket, and stalks away with it tucked under her arm. Yakertina doesn’t bother trying to follow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEAMUS and NIKOLAI often have stare-offs. They're usually silly and pointless.  
> KURO leads the 2p!verse army  
> AL want's to be part of the army, but got thrown out for being too trigger-happy  
> 'Star-sestra' loosely means big sister. My Russian isn't great though, so feel free to correct me  
> NIKOLAI reads a lot, so has a large general knowledge  
> VANYA is a diminutive of Ivan  
> KOLYA is a diminutive of Nikolai  
> 'Sestranka' is Russian for little sister  
> LILY and NATASHA live and lesbian together


	21. Canada v Russia; Round Four

“Wo ist Lorenzo?” Lutz asks.  
“Probably fucking Eliza,” Gilbert says bitterly. Both Germans are pretty down about the Lorenzo & Eliza situation. Poor babies.  
Nikolai rolls his eyes at them, tapping on Gilbert’s phone, his sisters either side of him.   
“Yeah?” Eliza answers. Lorenzo can be heard shouting and cursing in a mixture of English, Italian and random spits of German, Hungarian and Russian.  
“What’s he shouting about?” Nikolai asks, frowning.  
“He’s angry you interrupted us. Again. You’re a real mood-killer, you know.”  
“Only mood? Put Lorenzo on.”  
The phone clatters. “Ciao, bastardo.”  
“Don’t use that sort of language at me. I have a deal for you. I like to know where all my family are, so be home in ten minutes and I’ll give you, Eliza and maybe even Lutz some time off. Two months sound good to you?”  
Lorenzo hangs up. He and Eliza are home within five minutes. Most people are creeped out by this, except Lutz, who is just angry. He doesn’t take the time off, but Lorenzo makes sure he knows the offer’s still there, ve~  
Raivis, representative of Latvia, jumps when his phone rings, then frowns in confusion when the caller I.D. reads Mister Prussia.  
“Hello?”  
“Privyet.”  
Raivis almost drops the phone. “Mister Russia? Why do you have Mister Prussia’s phone?”  
“Because I am at Mister Germany’s house, and he needs you to come over to discuss relations.”  
“Oh, okay,” Raivis trembles, “I’ll be over as quickly as I can.”  
Nikolai hangs up, then unhooks himself from his sisters and beckons for Lutz to follow him to the kitchen. Gilbert follows as well. “When Raivis gets here, knock him out.”  
“Was?” Lutz asks, shocked, “Doch vertraut er Sie! Er tat was Sie habt gesagt!” I would argue that Raivis is more scared of than trusting of Russia, but whatever.  
“Yes, but how is he going to react when he realises we are the second players?”  
“Das gilt. Doch muss es einen besseren Mittel sein,” Lutz muses a better way, “Wie wäre es, wir vorgeben Einspieler sein?”  
“It could work,” Nikolai nods.  
“Gilbert! Vorgeben Nikolai sein!”  
“What?” is Gilbert’s only response.  
“Wait, why would Gilbert pretend to be me?” Nikolai asks, “He should be pretending to be you.”  
“Er sieht nicht aus wie,” Lutz answers. The German brothers really look nothing alike.  
“This won’t work,” Nikolai says.  
“Nein? Plan A weider?”  
“Mister Germany?” Raivis appears at the front door, still hung open from Natalya bursting in last chapter. Haven’t these people ever heard of closing the goddamn door? No.  
“In the kitchen!” Nikolai calls.   
Lutz hides behind the kitchen door, and as Raivis cautiously walks through he swings the frying pan down over the shorter man’s head. “Gott in Himmel; Eliza war genau!”  
"Do we turn him now?" Nikolai frowns as he speaks.  
"Warum fragt Sie mich?" Lutz answers, "Sie Sind das Boss, nicht mich!"  
"Leave him like this," Nikolai says.  
"Okay. Doch wo setzen wir ihn?"   
"The basement."  
"Gilbert lebt da."  
"Da! Oh, right." Whoo, language jokes!  
"It's alright," Gilbert appears in the doorway, journal under his arm and beer in his hand, "Just give me a couple of minutes to hide the stash and I'll stay upstairs."  
"That's weirdly nice of you," Nikolai says.  
Gilbert shrugs, "I'll be closer to the beer."  
"Bier!" Lutz yells in agreement.   
Lutz carries Raivis, Gilbert dashing off ahead. Nikolai remains in the kitchen, sipping at his vodka until Matthew slinks in, refilling his coffee.  
Nikolai pulls a glass bottle, too flat and leaf-shaped to be a vodka bottle, the liquid too thick and gold in colour to be vodka, from an inside coat pocket and puts it on the table. Matthew blatantly ignores his existence. Nikolai pulls out the stopper, and lets the strong smell work its magic.  
Matthew's head snaps round when he smells the syrup, eyes wide. "Is that..."  
"Proper Canadian maple syrup. Your second player would do practically anything for just a little bit of this stuff."  
"Really?"  
"Yes. Biggest sweet tooth out of any of us. Oliver loves feeding him."  
Matthew dives for the syrup, Nikolai snatching it away and holding it high, swinging it dangerously between his fingers almost six feet off the floor. Or two meters, as Europeans use meters, not feet.   
"Don't drop it!" Matthew whines.  
"Would you like some?" Nikolai asks sweetly.  
"What have you done to it?"  
"Nothing! Even I wouldn't dare mess with Matt's maple syrup."  
"But you'll give it away?"  
"I highly doubt Matt will be upset I shared his syrup with him."  
"I'm not Matt."  
"Do you want syrup or not?!"  
Nikolai impatiently throws the frying pan on the stove and picks up one of the mixing bowls Oliver has left on the draining board. He throws in flour, eggs and milk and whisks it quickly, Matthew watching him carefully. The pancakes, a large batch, cook quickly and stack up on a plate on the kitchen table, nations often slinking in to collect pancakes and and slinking away again.  
"Is this normal?" Matthew asks dumbly, "I didn't have you pinned as the cooking type."  
"You pick up a lot of hobbies when you've been left without responsibilities for almost two hundred years."  
Matthew eats quietly, slathering the round foods in maple syrup, and wolfing them down in his typical silent manner. Nikolai takes one, eating it plain.  
It is silent for a long while. Because Nikolai is the protagonist of this bullshit, he breaks it; "Little Canadian, I have a question."  
"And I suppose telling you to shut the fuck up isn't going to stop you from asking it?"   
"No. Why did you come here? You are not a strong nation-"  
"Yes I am!" Matthew interrupts. He's not as meek as a lot of fan fiction portrays him as. "I wanted to be the hero."  
"But that's Alfred's job."  
Matthew glares at him from across the table. He inherited that from Sweden.  
"But if you were the hero, everyone would have to remember you," Nikolai continues to speak, "And if you were to join me, I would make sure that everyone remembered you."  
"But you're doing really bad things!" Matthew whines, pouting like a child.  
"I'm doing a good thing," Nikolai retorts, "I am protecting my sisters."  
"By taking over the world?" Matthew asks skeptically.  
Nikolai stares at him. "Have a beer."  
Matthews only response is to roll his eyes.  
Nikolai’s eyes narrow. With a sweep of his arm, the table flies up and across into the cupboards, and Nikolai is charging across the vacated space to Matthew, grabbing the smaller man and pinning him to the floor by the throat, sitting on his legs and ignoring his scrabbling hands. Nikolai grabs a beer from the kitchen side close by, smashing the top off against the cabinet next to him and forcing the broken neck into Matthew’s mouth, sealing his hands around it to stop it from being spat out.   
Matthew chokes, beer and a little blood overspilling from his lips and over his cheeks. Most of the beer ends up on the floor and Matthew’s face and air, and he breathes deeply, choking on air, as the bottle empties. There are tears in the Canuck’s eyes as he continues to beat weakly at Nikolai’s arms and hands and chest.   
“Would you like another?” Nikolai asks sweetly.  
“No!” Matthew barks, “No more beer!”  
“Then you will join us?”  
“No!”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Completely.”  
Nikolai takes another bottle, breaks the neck and forces it into Matthew’s jaw. Matthew claws at Nikolai’s hand, then up at his face, leaving two thin red lines in his cheek.  
Calmly, Nikolai puts the half-empty bottle down, seizes Matthew’s hand with both of his own and squeezes hard. Bone grinds on bones, fingers warp, until the bones snap into uselessness and agony, Matthew yelling and screaming.  
Nikolai pushes him back down, replaces the bottle, but is more patient and gentle as Matthew obeys, drinking the beer as tidily as he can, cradling his injured hand to his chest. It is almost endearing to Nikolai how little pain and torture the younger man has endured.  
“Would you like another?” Nikolai asks again. Matthew doesn’t answer, and Nikolai sighs, giving the Canuck a pat on the head, “You have an option; either beg to join my family, or have another beer.”  
Matthew still refuses to answer. His shoulders shake as he sobs, arms pulled up over his head to hide his face, Nikolai having to force them back down.  
Another bottle is reached for and broken, Nikolai forcing the broken glass into Matthew’s mouth as Kumajiro barrels in, chased by Al.  
“Want Canada!” Kumajiro screams, diving on the Canuck and snuggling into the beer-soaked chest.  
“What are you doing?” Nikolai demands.  
“I just wanted a hug!” Al whines.  
“Hey Canada?” Kumajiro asks.  
“Kumajiro?”  
“Are we becoming one with Mother Russia?”  
Matthew lies still for several seconds, careful not to look at the Russian still sitting on his legs. “Yeah, we are.”  
The representative of Canada, reunited with the representative of The Great North, barely reacts as the red light engulfs him. As it peels away, the beer-soaked hockey shirt has been replaced with red plaid and a mountie jacket, his converse with thick hunting boots, his small frame with a much larger, visibly strong one. His hair is longer and messier, tied into a bunch above his neck, the arms of a pair of sunglasses tangled in.  
Matt looks up at Nikolai, frowning slightly at the larger man still sitting on his legs, “Not a sight I’m used to waking up to.”  
“Is he usually less dressed when you wake up?” Al asks with a grin.  
Both Matt and Nikolai punch him in the knee.  
Kurojiro scarpers off, and Matt sits up, Nikolai getting off him. Matt pick up the bottle of beer, taking a swig, ignoring the way the splintered glass slices into his chapped lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason Matthew couldn't be turned is because a 'piece' of him (The Great North (Kumajiro)) was missing


	22. Choosing sides; Line

The Irish twins don’t react to seeing Matt; they seem to have been expecting him. Natalya frowns, and Katyusha begins to sob.  
“Star-sestra,” Nikolai fawns over her, gathering her up into a hug, “What is the matter?”  
“Matvei was my friend,” Katyusha sobs.  
Nikolai rocks her gently, patting her head with a wary cautioness, “How about I fetch Liechtenstein; she’s your friend, both of your friends.”  
“Good luck getting past Vash,” Seamus, long-haired, snorts.  
“Yeah, he’s hella neutral,” Al pips up, “And is having Little Miss I’m Super Cute But I’ll Turn You Into Swiss Cheese And Steal Your Dinner Money To Buy A Hair Ribbon here a good idea?”  
“Just saying ‘Lily’ would have been a lot quicker,” Matt says plainly.  
“Yeah, but fuck convenience.”  
“I have a plan,” Have I clarified enough that Nikolai’s an attention whore? Because he is. Get’s it from Putin. I think I’ve already made that joke once, but oh well.  
“Plans are good,” Al comments.  
“They join me and stay neutral.”  
There are several seconds of silence.  
“If they join you,” Matt speaks slowly, “They are no longer neutral.”  
Nikolai doesn’t seem to notice Matt’s more logical statement, and leaves. Matt might be second in command, but that doesn’t mean first in command listens to him. Second in command just sighs, takes another drink of beer, and sits down in Nikolai’s unofficial chair. Fucking Rebel.  
The bullet hits the floor by Nikolai’s boot, barely inches away from his foot.  
“That is your only warning shot,” Vash calls.  
“I only want to be your ally,” Nikolai calls back.  
“No. Go away.” The guns is cocked again.  
“But you cannot kill me, or stop me from approaching.”  
“No, but I can knock you out long enough to be contained and shipped back to Russia.”  
“I just want to talk to you,” Nikolai takes a cautious step forwards, hands above his head.  
“Switzerland and Liechtenstein will not be making any alliances. End of discussion.”  
“Fine, fine, I only want to talk.”  
“Alright. One wrong move and I shoot. Approach.”  
Under Vash’s watchful eye, Nikolai walks smoothly up to the Swiss house, “You have a lovely home, Vash.”  
“Whatever,” the militant blond glares up at the taller Russian, “What do you want?”  
“I would like to speak to you both. Where is Liechtenstein?”  
“Lilya's asleep. I will tell her were asking after her.”  
“It is just that I worry about you both. So small, so vulnerable-”  
Vash holds up his gun.  
“And so surrounded by bigger, more powerful countries. Austria-” Nikolai takes a step towards Vash.  
“Isn’t interested in invasion anymore.”  
Another step. “Holland and Belgium-”  
“Aren’t interested in invasion either.”  
Another step. “Denmark-”  
“Has settled down with the rest of Scandinavia.”  
Another step. “They could easily change their minds about that.”  
“No one is that stupid.”  
Nikolai stares with a small, fixed smile, almost like Ivan’s. By now, he is towering over Vash, the gun tucked under his chin. “That’s where you are wrong. I am not the Russia you are used to; I am what Yong-Su refers to as a second player.”  
“Get off my property,” Vash spits.  
Nikolai smacks Vash’s gun out from his hand. Vash pulls a Swiss Army Knife, because what else is he going to pull, out of his holster on his belt and slashes at Nikolai’s face. Nikolai catches Vash’s wrist, gripping it firmly and spinning the smaller man around, forcing his arm to be twisted behind his back and pulling until Vash drops the knife.  
Nikolai catches the knife and drives it straight between Vash’s ribs into his heart. Vash tenses, then relaxes as Nikolai pulls the knife out, flicking blood up onto his own face as Vash collapses forwards, dead.  
A gasp, running footsteps, and the front door opens and slams. Nikolai follows calmly, wiping Vash’s blood off on his scarf.


	23. Choosing sides; Angle

Nikolai slings Vash’s body over his shoulder, following Lillya out of the front door. The garden is neat and trim, with only trees to hide behind. Which is a difficult thing to do when you’re wearing a bright pink dress.  
Nikolai strides up to her, growing arrogant in his ability to change and kill people. “Didn’t your big brother ever tell you that pink is a terrible colour for camouflage?” Ironic really, considering the fact that the Swiss army is the only army to use pink in their camo, because pink just isn’t manly enough for most soldiers, and it makes them practically invisible. Seriously, don’t play hide and seek with the Swiss, you will lose and I will laugh at you for it.  
Lillya jumps out from behind the tree, tucking the barrel of a small hand-pistol under Nikolai’s chin, serious face making her look like Vash with a hair ribbon. Which she basically is. “Give me Vash back.”  
“Alright, but he’s dead,” Nikolai says bluntly, “Leaving you very open to an attack. Which may or may not be lead by myself.”  
Lillya’s eyes narrow, and she cocks the gun. Seriously, the gun-cocking needs to stop and someone needs to just shoot Nikolai and kill him before this story drags on much further and gets any more complicated. Spoiler alert; that doesn’t happen.  
“Alternatively, I could bring him back,” Nikolai offers.  
“You could?!” Glitter is practically erupting from Lillya’s body. Fuck Japan; Lillya Zwingli is the anime.  
“But only if we are allies. I don’t just hand my magic abilities out to anyone, you know.”  
“But Vash said we’re independent nations that don’t need no alliances,” inappropriate joke, I know, I am so sorry, “And that I should stay away from strangers,” she takes a large step away.  
“Vash also said he would protect you.”  
“He has!”  
“‘Has’. Obviously,” Nikolai bounces Vash on his shoulder, “No longer. But if an alliance is such a problem, I can offer you a secret alliance.”  
“Secret? Did you offer Vash a secret alliance?”  
“Yes,” Nikolai lies, the bastard, “But he was so determined to stay neutral.”  
“If Vash wouldn’t, then I won’t either,” Lillya says firmly, face pulled down into an adorable frowning-pout of determination. Okay, so maybe she isn’t Vash with a hair ribbon; she’s far too cute.  
“Are you sure?”  
“I won’t do anything Vash wouldn’t.”  
“He won’t be getting revived then, will he?”  
“No! Give Big Brother back!”  
“No. Give me your allegiance, and I will.”  
“I can’t do that!” Lillya whines, “Switzerland and Liechtenstein will remain neutral! Just give me Vash and leave!”  
“No,” Nikolai says bluntly. He turns on his heel, carving a semi-circle of mud out of the ground, and strides off.  
Lillya stares dumbly at him for a few second. She shoves the gun, safety fastened, into the pocket of her dress and runs after him. She grabs one end of his scarf, and pulls hard.  
Nikolai doesn’t react. He pretends he didn’t even notice. Of course, he did notice; that scarf is his magic and the foundation of this empire he’s building. He should probably have got it fixed up before he tried to take over another country. But he’s not exactly sensible at times, is he?  
Lillya gives up pulling on the scarf, running ahead of him instead and stopping, trying to physically barricade him. Nikolai blatantly barrels her over, again pretending not to notice her as she falls over, getting her dress muddy. She grabs his ankle as he strides past and is dragged several steps before Nikolai stops.  
“I thought you didn’t want to join me?” Nikolai says, smiling.  
“I don’t,” Lillya spits.  
“You seem to be determined to come with me.”  
“Just give me Vash back!” Lillya whines.  
“Only if you become allied to Mother Russia.”  
Lillya stares up at him for several long seconds, “If I do, you’ll revive Vash?”  
“Yes.”  
Lillya gets to her feet, wiping the worst of the mud off her dress with her hands, holding her head up with as much dignity as she can.  
“Come get cleaned up,” Nikolai says gently. He holds his Vash-free arm out, allowing Lillya to take it, and leads her north to Germany.


	24. Choosing sides; Triangle

With a Zwingli on each arm, Nikolai is unable to punch Al in the face when he jumps out of nowhere as the trio get through the door. Shame, really. However, Lillya is sharp enough to pull the handgun out of her dress pocket, flick off the safety, and shoot Al in the chest.  
“Nice aim,” Nikolai compliments.  
“Yeah, not bad,” Al adds, “Just missed my lung from the feel of it. Vash has taught you well, young gun-slinger. And you!” he points at Nikolai, “Could have, like, announced your arrival or something, we could have avoided me getting shot. And how’s the world domination going?”  
“Fine,” Nikolai answers shortly.  
“He’s not the talkative type, is he?” Al asks Lillya, “And who’s Sleeping Bloody here?”  
“Vash. Lillya’s brother.”  
“Oh, shit. Bad joke then, wasn’t it?”  
“All your jokes are bad,” Matt comments, leaning in the doorway of the living room. Al pouts. Matt ignores him, and addresses Nikolai; “Natalya’s gone to get Torys. Told her it was an order from you.”  
Nikolai unhooks himself from Lillya’s arm, “You go sit with Katyusha,” he says to her, “Al, take her to Katyusha, then get that bullet removed from your chest.”  
Al leads Lillya away, repeating Nikolai’s order in a mimicking deep growl.  
“Brat!” Again, this is Natalya shouting for her brother. As the sibling of four brothers, I find it hilarious that the Russian word for ‘brother’ is ‘brat’.  
“Hello, Mister Russia,” Torys says, trembling a little, “You look well.”  
Nikolai, without a word, dumps Vash’s body into Torys’s arms.  
“Is this Mister Switzerland?” Torys asks dumbly, staring down at the body in shock.  
“Yes.” Nikolai answers bluntly.  
“What do you want me to do with him?” Torys asks, swallowing down bile.  
“Put him in the basement with Raivis,” Nikolai orders.  
With a nod and a quiet “Yes, Mister Russia,”, Torys carries Vash to the door of the basement. His footsteps echo down, and Gilbert and Yao’s footsteps echo up, seemingly to help Torys. The first player representatives have settled into the second player regime well.  
“Natalya, would you be so kind as to fetch Eduard?” Nikolai asks sweetly.  
“Are you trying to get me to kidnap the whole world or something?” Natalya asks, only part-sarcastic.  
“No, I just know that you don’t like to sit around bored,” Nikolai says, and leans down to kiss his younger sister on the cheek, “I don’t want you to feel trapped, sestra.”  
Natalya kisses her brother back, and runs off. Lutz comes clumping up out of the basement, accepting a beer from Matt as the Canadian comes out of the kitchen with a collection of bottles, Al’s blood staining his hands. From the kitchen, Al and Kuro crash and smash shit up, Oliver yelling at the to calm down, a few threats about cannibal cupcakes thrown into the rant.  
“Was wird uns über Vash tun?” Lutz asks.  
“Keep him in the basement, for now,” Nikolai answers.  
“But you said you would revive him!” Lillya cries from the living room doorway.  
“I can’t right now,” Nikolai says.  
“Why not?”  
Nikolai holds up his scarf. The tear is obvious, the wool beginning to unravel. Lillya frowns.  
“Something to do with a physical embodiment of magic,” Matt explains, ushering Lillya back into the living room, Nikolai following, “If the scarf’s damaged, the magic won’t work.”  
Nikolai sits down in his armchair, Matt sitting down on the coffee table. The scarf is unwound until it is hanging off Nikolai’s shoulders, and the torn end is handed to Matt. Matt puts his beer on the floor, and pulls a needle and ball of wool from his pocket. Before any of you question how that’s possible; Nikolai his put charms on certain items of his henchmen’s, giving them select magical abilities. In this case, there is a charm in Matt’s pocket, allowing him to be able to carry pretty much anything, Animal Crossing style.  
Matt threads the needle with the wool, and carefully pulls it through a section of the scarf by the tear. Nikolai leans close to him, watching his every move. Matt continues, barely noticing the large Russian leering over him. He’s perfectly used to it.  
“This is slightly cuter than it possibly should be,” Katyusha murmurs to Lillya.  
The tear is large, and Matt is working for a long while. By the time he knots the wool, the tear darned so well it is difficult to notice, the sun has fallen behind the horizon, and Katyusha and Lillya have fallen asleep, leant on each other on the loveseat.  
Rhiona and Seamus gently tuck a blanket around the girls. Vash lies on Gilbert’s bed, Yao and Torys having stitched his wound up, Raivis being fed soup in the kitchen as he holds an ice pack to his throbbing head. Gilbert keeps shaking Vash, checking his pulse, checking for warmth and breath, wondering how a nation can be so dead for so long.


	25. Roderich; Famous Ruler

Nikolai and Matt creep out as quietly as they can, footsteps muffled by Seamus’ loud snoring. The girls asleep on the loveseat don’t notice them.  
“Wo nachste, Boss?” Lutz asks from the top of the stairs to the basement.  
“Austria,” Matt answers as Nikolai looks across at him.  
From the bottom of the stairs, Gilbert frowns at the new voice.  
“Roddy will be easy!” Al whines, “I ain’t getting him; that’s boring.”  
“He’ll be so heartbroken over Eliza,” Nikolai says.  
“You’re a cold, heartless bastard,” Al comments. Nikolai punches him in the face.  
“Cupcake?” Oliver sings, twirling out the kitchen with a plate full of them, François a few steps behind.  
“No,” is the unanimous reply. Almost.  
Nikolai takes a cupcake, with red-and-white striped icing, and leaves. Gilbert shoves past Lutz into the hallway, staring at the Mountie standing next to the door until he can put a country to the face. A fist through the door, and Lutz is dragging Gilbert back down, Yao running from the bathroom to calm the commotion.

Nikolai knocks on the front door of Roderich Edelstein’s Vienna home. The music within stops abruptly, a few seconds of silence, then the door clatters unlocked and opens.  
“What is it, you’re interrupting my piano recital,” Roderical asks, blunt as ever.  
“Hello,” Nikolai says pleasantly, “May I come in?”  
Roderich stares for a few seconds, “Sure. Would you like anything?” he lead the way into the building, “Coffee? Tea?”  
“No thank you,” Nikolai answers, groping the shape of his vodka bottle through his coat.  
“Have a seat,” Roderich offers, politeness casual.  
“Thank you,” Nikolai sits down in the chair, facing the piano from the side.  
Roderich sits down on his piano stool, back stiff and hands folded in his lap. “Is there any particular reason for your visit?”  
“I wanted to talk to you about Elizabeta. She isn’t around at the moment, is she?”  
“She doesn’t live here anymore,” Roderich answers plainly, “And it’s none of my business what she does with her time.”  
“She’s often here though, isn’t she?”  
“Yes. But clearly she isn’t right now.”  
“The reason for that is because she’s at Germany’s house.”  
“Good for her,” Roderich says. He clearly doesn’t care what Elizabeta does. As he said; it’s none of his business.  
“Don’t you want to know what she’s doing there?” Nikolai tries to chastise Roderich, but the Austrian doesn’t respond. “I took her over.”  
Roderich stiffens, somehow, eyes widening in alarm. He remains silent.  
“I would like to make an agreement with you,” Nikolai says plainly, “You will join me quietly and calmly.”  
Roderich’s eyes roll, and his body sags slightly, losing its excess tension, “I’m going to fight against you, aren’t you? I’ll attack you with my piano and torture you with Mozart.”  
“The Americans torture with music.”  
“Not with Mozart, they don’t. They mostly use rap, I’ve heard. Can I return to my practise now?”  
“I do not have an answer from you.”  
Roderich sighs. “Like I said, I won’t fight you. We all know I’m the weak little pianist who hid behind his wife, and you’re the big bad Russia. Fine. You have my allegiance. Now, if that’s all you wanted, I’d like to return to my piano now.”  
“No, you’re coming with me,” Nikolai orders.  
“On two conditions,” Roderich says plainly, “Firstly, there needs to be a piano. Secondly, there needs to be no Prussians.”  
“On second thought, stay here.”  
Roderich half-laughs, “You’ll know where I am if you need to listen to some music. Would you like walking out, or do you know the way yourself?”  
“I am so glad we are on the same page,” Nikolai stands up, “I know the way out.”  
Roderich turns to his piano, rests his fingers on a calculated selection of keys an presses down; a minor chord opening a sad song.  
“Oh, and by the way,” Nikolai pauses in the doorway. Roderich ignores him, beginning to play a soft, mourning tune, “Mozart was German.”  
Roderich’s hands slam down on the keys, the sound ugly. Nikolai leaves, chuckling.

As Nikolai walks through the door, Gilbert flies at him, “How could you, you bastard?!”  
Lutz drags his ‘brother’ away, trying to soothe him in German. Oliver is fawning over François, the Frenchman’s nose bleeding. Yao’s face is bruised, Lutz’s arms are covered in claw marks, handprints and fingerprints are purpling over Gilbert’s arms and torso and face. Matt has been shoved into the wall so hard his head has damaged the plaster.  
“What is going on here?” Nikolai demands.  
Gilbert screams, leaning close to Nikolai to yell into his face.  
“He’s upset about Canada,” Yao explains as the scream dies.  
Gilbert breathes deeply, in and out. He glares at Nikolai, red baring into red.  
“You must understand that I need Matt,” Nikolai says plainly, “He harbours a lot of information that is very useful to me.”  
Gilbert doesn’t speak for several long seconds, he just stares, glares, breathing deeply and loudly, leaning away from Lutz’s tight grip on his elbows, “You couldn’t let me have one, could you? You took Ludwig, Feliciano, Francis, Elizabeta, and now you’ve taken Birdie too. You couldn’t let me have one companion?”  
“You have Yao,” Nikolai retorts, “Raivis, Toris, Lillya, Vash when he wakes up. Katyusha, though I’d be grateful if you were to leave her alone. Natalya, though I will only wish you luck if you try.”  
Gilbert stares. His face crumples, and he sobs, head flopping down and body going limp in Lutz’s grip, and the Western German lets him fall gently to the floor. “Just one. Just one person I care about, but you had to turn them all, you had to make all of them strangers.”  
Yao scoops him up, carrying him easily to the basement like a parent carrying a child. There is an air of sobriety amongst the second players, broken awkwardly by Matt; “Spain. Antonio’s next.”  
“What the Canadian said,” Nikolai says, voice slightly quieter than usual.  
“Send Gilbert?” Al suggests from the kitchen doorway, Kuro just behind him, the men enjoying a cup of coffee before returning to beating the shit out of each other.  
“I think I’d like to keep an eye on him,” Nikolai says, “I want him to stay here.”  
“He needs to get out the house a while,” Al argues, “And you sent him to get Katyusha, your precious big sister.”  
“If I’d sent anyone else she would have been startled and afraid. You’re going.”  
“What?!”  
“You heard me.”  
“Fine,” Al growls, throwing the remainder of his still-hot coffee into Kuro’s face and leaving.


	26. Nobody expected this one

“I’m back!” Al hollers.  
Matt snorts awake, jolting upright in Nikolai’s armchair. Katyusha and Lillya had been alarmed to see him there when they woke up, before Yao ushered them into the basement. Gilbert is asleep over the loveseat, half-drunk beer still in his hand, Lutz sprawled out on top of him, snoring like a bear.  
“Why are we at Gilbert and Ludwig’s house, strange American?” Antonio chirps.  
“Got Lovino as well,” Al hollers, ignoring the Spaniard, “Two birds one stone, y’know?”  
“Yes, I’d happily kill two eagles with one stone,” Nikolai says dryly, leaning against the kitchen doorway, coffee in hand.  
“I’d like to see you try, Ruski.”  
Nikolai rolls his eyes, then addresses the Southern couple; “Would you like a seat?”  
“What are you doing here, vodka-bastard?” Lovino asks, blunt as ever.  
“Hi, Ivan!” Antonio greets with a grin, “You look different.”  
“I am different.” Nikolai retorts.  
“Have you had a haircut?”  
Matt, from the coffee machine in the kitchen, slaps a hand to his forehead.  
“No, you slow sun-head,” Nikolai says shortly.  
“That is one shitty-ass insult,” Al comments.  
“Ehi, I live with the idiot!” Lovino says in agreement with Nikolai.   
Lutz stretches and rolls, falling straight off the love seat onto the floor with a solid crash. Lovino jumps in surprise, one hand automatically reaching under his jacket until he realises it’s only the German. “Oy, potato-bastard! You seen Feli?”  
Lutz just stares at him dumbly, trying to work out an answer, until Lovino registers the scar and gasps in shock; “You’re that second-player-thingy Young-Soo was on about!”  
Antonio jumps on Lovino, pulling the Italian into a tight, protective hug.  
“North Italy is upstairs,” Nikolai says.  
“Doing?” Lovino asks over Antonio’s shoulder.  
“Hungary.” Nikolai says bluntly. Lutz pulls a face. Gilbert groans in his sleep.  
“Don’t think I want to interrupt,” Lovino says.  
“Oh, please do,” Nikolai grins, and it’s genuine and almost pleasant, “It’ll be funny.”  
“No, Nikolai,” Matt says sternly, but Nikolai is already headed up the stairs, Lovino unhooking himself from Antonio and following him. Lutz clambers to his feet to follow as well, waking Gilbert up.  
Nikolai knocks on the bedroom door. It flies open to reveal Lorenzo, very angry and very naked. Insert Italian-themed censorship gag here.  
“Woah, that’s a penis,” Antonio says dumbly, averting his eyes.  
Lorenzo rolls his, “Oh please, “In heaven, the lovers are Italian”, remember that shit?”  
“Oh cazzo, he’s the second player,” Lovino says bluntly.  
“Lovino? What are you doing here?”  
“What about Russians?” Nikolai interrupts the conversation.  
“Uh… assassins?” Lovino suggests, “Alcoholics? No, no; dancers. Ballet… and that jumpy-kicky thing.”  
“Cossack?”   
“Yeah, that thing.”  
“Can I go back to becoming one now?” Lorenzo demands.  
“Yeah, whatever,” Nikolai sighs.  
“Oy, Lutz!” Lorenzo snaps, “You planning on joining us?”  
“Nicht wirklich,” Lutz answers bluntly.  
“Suit yourself,” Lorenzo shrugs, and slams the door closed.  
“What the fuck was that all about?” Lovino demands.  
“I thought it would be funnier,” Nikolai answers.  
“The fuck? That’s your humour?” Lovino stares at Nikolai.  
“In Soviet Russia,” Lutz says in heavily accented in English.  
“Don’t you dare,” Nikolai interrupts.  
“So many punchlines to choose from,” Lutz ponders aloud, tapping a finger against his chin.  
“I will kill you, and make Lorenzo watch,” Nikolai snaps.  
Lutz drops his hand quickly, staring at the floor, “Entschuldigung, Boss.”  
“Gilbert, take these two to the basement, get them caught up,” Nikolai orders.  
“Come on,” Gilbert urges from the stairs. Antonio skips up to him, followed by Lovino, and Gilbert leads them downstairs. He refuses to acknowledge Nikolai and Matt, even as Matt offers him a coffee.  
“Got a spare coffee, if anyone wants it,” Matt announces as he reaches the top of the stairs. Lutz takes the coffee.  
“Who’s next?” Nikolai asks his second in command.  
“Czechoslovakia,” Matt answers.  
“You’d better Czechoslovakia, before you wreck-oslovakia,” Lutz says with a grin. Matt slaps the coffee out of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter is a Monty Python "Nobody expected the Spanish Inquisition" refernce


	27. Svetla; Gift

Svetla Kopecky, human representative of Czechoslovakia, is reading quietly in her window-seat when Nikolai knocks loudly on the door. She is a small woman, one of the few representatives who looks aged, with laugh lines and crow’s feet making her appear old enough to have adult children, her hair is thin and blonde, and she still wears traditional Slavic-Germanic dress.  
“Hello?” she asks, frowning slightly, “Are you one of Hedvika’s friends? She’s not here at the moment.”  
“No, I came to see you,” Nikolai says politely.  
“That’s nice of you. You’ll have to remind me of your name; you’re familiar but I just can’t remember your name.”  
“Russia.”  
“Oh, of course! You look different. Although, I haven’t seen you in a while, so it’s probably nothing.”  
“Yeah, probably nothing. When will Hedvika be back, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
“I dont know. She’s visiting Milan.”  
Nikolai frowns at the mention of the Slovakian representative. “I don’t like Milan. He punched me in the face.”  
“It was justified,” Svetla defends shortly, “If you’re going to disrespect my son in this way, I’d be grateful if you would leave and return when you’re in a politer mindframe.”  
“No.” Nikolai says plainly.  
“Leave.” Svetla says with a scowl, pointing at the door.  
“Do you want to know why I look different?”  
“So you do look different.”  
“Yes. It is because I am the second player to the Russia you are used to.”  
“I would have thought Ivan’s opposite would be less of an ass,” Svetla says. The Z-snap is left hanging, unsnapped physically, in the air.  
“You’re coming with me,” Nikolai growls.  
“No I’m not,” Svetla answers.  
“Yes you are. I can make you a country again.”  
“Don’t want to be a country again. I am content the way I am.”  
“You are making this more difficult than it has to be. I don’t actually want to have to kidnap you, but you are causing me to run out of other options.”  
“Or you could leave and never come back.”  
The ends of Nikolai’s scarf surge forwards, seizing Svetla by the neck and dragging her up off the floor, her feet kicking helplessly.  
“Alternatively,” Nikolai muses aloud, “I could just go after Hedvika and Milan, and use them to force you into an alliance so they don’t get hurt.”  
“You’re a monster,” Svetla chokes.  
“No, I’m just very old and I’ve seen a lot of shit. It’s mentally and emotionally draining, you know.”  
“Yes, I do know,” Svetla answers. She wraps her hands around the scarf, pulling it a few centimeters away from her throat, just enough to breathe, “We’ve all seen death. Alfred’s Davie. Arthur’s Elizabeth. Francis’ Jean. Gilbert’s Old Man Fritz. Your Anastasia.”  
With a yell of anger, Nikolai throws Svetla against the walls. She crashes into the brick and falls to the floor. With a groan, she tries to shakily push herself up into a sitting position before collapsing, a thin stream blood dribbling from her forehead.  
Nikolai picks her up, carrying her back to Germany.

Svetla stirs into consciousness, just as Nikolai steps onto the driveway of Gilbert and Ludwig’s house. “Germany?” she asks, voice quiet and tired, “Why are we in Germany? Why are you carrying me? What happened? Ugh, my head hurts…”  
Nikolai simply opens the door with a scarf-end, and enters the house. “I’m back!”  
Svetla winces at the volume of his voice, and Nikolai chuckles at her wince. He’s a horrible bastard at times.  
“Poppet!” Oliver chirps, skipping out of the kitchen with a plate full of freshly-iced cupcakes.  
“Hallo, Boss,” Lutz greets.  
“Lutz, I brought you a German-friend,” Nikolai says, carrying Svetla into the living room and sitting her down on the loveseat next to Rhiona. “Say hi, Svetla, this is Lutz, this is Rhiona, that’s Seamus, that’s François.”  
“Hi,” Svetla says shortly.  
“Play nice,” Nikolai warns her, “Or I’ll be visiting some children.”  
“Because that doesn’t make you sound like a paedophile at all,” Gilbert comments. He sits cross-legged at the coffee table, journal open and full of notes. He has drawn and coloured the Czechoslovakian flag in red and blue biro, and made a note that she’s still ‘1p’ next to it.  
“You leave them alone!” Svetla snaps.  
“You have my word,” Nikolai promises.  
The door flies open. The newcomer appears to be a young man, with dark hair and an expression of pure anger pulling the handsome face down. Milan Žagar, human representative of Slovakia, scans around him, disregarding the recognisable first players in the hallway, only frowning for a second at the different-looking Canadian, before he finds Nikolai and stamps into the living room, fists curled tight.  
“You bastard,” he spits in Nikolai’s face, only a few inches shorter than the hulking Russian, “What have you done to my light?”  
Nikolai doesn’t answer. His fist whips up, straight into Milan’s face, knocking the man onto the floor.  
“You said you wouldn’t hurt him!” Svetla yells, “Milan, please go home!”  
“Listen to your mother,” Nikolai chastises.  
“No,” Milan says firmly, “I’m not leaving!”  
“Are you sure about that?” Nikolai challenges.  
“I’m living here for a little while,” Svetla says, ignoring Nikolai.  
“But why?” Milan asks, shocked.  
“Just a temporary arrangement, I’ll be home soon, don’t worry.”  
“But what if the bastard hurts you?”  
“You have my word,” Nikolai repeats his usual promise, ignoring the insult.  
“I’ll be fine, I’ve got Gilbert here,” Svetla says.  
Milan stands, and squares up to Nikolai, “You hurt her in any way, and I will kill you. Do you understand me?”  
“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Nikolai says, so earnestly it has to be sarcasm, “I am shaking in my boots.”  
“I’ll be home soon,” Svetla says. Milan pauses as he leaves to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. He glares at Nikolai over his shoulder as her turns at the door, slamming the front door behind him.  
Nikolai turns on Svetla. “You’re not going ‘home’ any time soon.”  
“I’m aware of that,” she retorts.  
Nikolai frowns slightly. “You knew? So you lied to him?”  
“It was a white lie, yes.”  
“Altering the truth for his safety,” Nikolai says gently.  
“Yeah,” Svetla grunts the agreement, “His safety.”  
“I know I would do the same if it would benefit my sisters.”  
“He’s nice,” Katyusha says from the doorway to the kitchen, “Deep down.”  
“To be honest to you, Katyusha,” Svetla says plainly, “I really don’t care.”  
“Of course you don’t care,” Nikolai says, voice as biting as Svetla’s had been, “You’re not even a country. Explains your friendship with Gilbert.”  
“Low blow, dude,” Gilbert says, and Gilbird tweets in offense.  
Katyusha sits herself down next to Svetla, “It will be okay.”  
“Of course it will be okay,” Nikolai adds, “We are family,”  
Svetla just glares at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Czechoslovakia is no longer a country, but has been split into Czech Republic (Hedvika) and Slovakia (Milan). Svetla is their 'mother'.


	28. Sofia; Wise

“Who’s next?” Nikolai says, not asks, to Matt.  
“San Marino,” Matt answers shortly.  
“Anyone fancy coming along to help?” Nikolai asks openly. Matt frowns at him in confusion.  
“Sofia’s a little girl,” Al says bluntly, “I doubt you’ll need any help with her.”  
“Ja, und sind Sie night Freunde mit sie?” Lutz asks.  
“Yes, I am friends with her, but I just wondered if any of you would like a walk,” Nikolai says calmly before he leaves.  
“Why does he always ask you who to take over next?” Gilbert asks Matt.  
Matt doesn’t answer for a few seconds, shocked at Gilbert talking to him. He takes a deep breath, and chuckles dryly, “Well, he doesn’t really ask, does he?”  
“He says it to you. You tell him who to take over next. Are you in charge or him?”  
“He is. I’m just good at remembering things.”  
“What is there to remember? Did he already have an order of countries to take over, or something?”  
“Something like that, yeah.”  
Nikolai knocks politely on the front door of Sofia Vargas-Diacono. There is no answer, and he knocks again, a little louder. And again, louder and getting impatient, but there is still no answer.  
“If you don’t answer,” Nikolai shouts up at the house, “I will kick the door in.”  
There is a pattering of footsteps, and the door opens to the little Italian girl, yawning and rubbing the sleep of her interrupted siesta from her eyes, “Ivan? You’re being weirdly rude… Oh. That’s why.”  
“I’m sorry about being rude,” Nikolai says gently. “May I come in?”  
“Yeah, but you’ll have to forgive the mess,” Sofia answers, “Lovino was here earlier, and he was really upset. Something about Feliciano being missing.”  
“Feliciano was in Germany. Lovino is there now. Do you want to visit them?”  
“I guess I have been worried,” Sofia agrees, half-pouting half-frowning in thought.  
“But just to warn you, once you step into Mister Germany’s house, you are part of my family.”  
“What?”  
“Family. The Italies are your family, and they’re my family now too. Would you like to be part of my family too?” Nikolai pats a gentle fingertip to the end of Sofia’s nose.  
The little girl giggles, then frowns, “But since when has Italy had anything to do with Russia?”  
“Since now.”  
“Something isn’t right here,” Sofia says. She pulls on her shoes and jacket, and goes with Nikolai to Germany, skipping along side him. Her dress is yellow with red flowers. From the corner of his eyes, she looks to Nikolai like Anastasia, her own blood dripped over the yellow dress she had been so fond of wearing, she said it made her look like a sunflower, especially with her brown blouse.  
“I’m back with Sofia,” Nikolai announces.  
“Where are Lovino and Feliciano?” Sofia asks.  
“Veneziano is upstairs,” Nikolai answers.  
“Don’t go up there,” Lovino says, “You’re not old enough to know what he’s doing.”  
Nikolai frowns, trying to locate Lovino. “Well, I suppose he’s not wrong. For now, why don’t you run along? Little Raivis is in the basement, I believe, if you need a playmate.”  
“I’m 150 years old, I know what sex is,” Sofia snaps, “And Raivis isn’t a child, he’s just short.”  
“Yo, Ruski!” Al comes running from the kitchen, “Lovino’s disappeared about an hour ago, and we can’t find him!”  
“Antonio?” Nikolai barks.  
“Taking a siesta. We’re hoping Lovino is too, just somewhere obscure like on top of a cupboard or something, like a fucking cat.”  
“Lovino?” Nikolai calls, “Come out of hiding, or I’m destroying pizza.”  
“Oh no.” Lovino answers, voice unpinnable, “Do not destroy pizza.”  
“Then get out here.”  
“How about no.”  
“How about bye-bye pizza.”  
“Oh no. My pizza. Do not destroy pizza.”  
“You realise he’s being sarcastic, right?” Sofia says bluntly.  
“Yes,” Nikolai answers, “It’s all he’s good at.”  
Sofia blinks at him, then makes a beckoning gesture, encouraging Nikolai to lean down to her, smiling like she’s got some sort of secret. But as he leans down to her height, her hand lashes out and she slaps him squarely across the jaw.  
Nikolai pauses, Al “Oooh”ing just a few feet away, attracting Matt’s attention from the kitchen. Nikolai grabs Sofia’s curl, pulling hard, Sofia screaming in pain.  
“Let go of her!” Lovino yells, and the soft click of the safety of a gun being removed can be heard.  
“Do you want me to let go?” Nikolai asks sweetly.  
“Yes!” Sofia answers.  
“Are you very sorry for slapping me?”  
“Yes!”  
“Say it.”  
“I’m really very sorry I slapped you!”  
“You’re not going to do it again, are you?”  
“No, I’m not going to slap you again, I’m sorry!”  
“Good girl,” Nikolai lets go of her curl, and Sofia backs away from him, sobbing. He picks her up, and dumps her on the loveseat of the living room, still crying, and orders Rhiona to look after her.  
“You’re a cruel bastard,” Al says plainly.  
“Did you even know her curl would do that?” Matt asks, “Just hurt her, because that’s definitely not what my curl does.”  
“But of course, he already knows that,” Al earns himself a punch in the face.  
“No, I didn’t” Nikolai admits.  
“That makes you a pervert,” Matt says bluntly.  
A gunshot, and a bullet buries itself into the wall inches above Nikolai’s head. Lovino curses loudly, and cocks his gun again.  
“I’m going to suppose you’re angry, Lovino?” Nikolai calls.  
“No fucking shit,” is Lovino’s snapped response.  
“Come kill me then,” Nikolai offers.  
The hallway falls silent. Then there is a crunch. Al holds up a large bowl of popcorn, munching through it and just being a distraction in general.


	29. Pew pew peg it

The hallway is silent. Gunshots ring out from the living room, making Al jump in shock, and Nikolai’s eyes narrow.  
“You missed,” he said bluntly.  
“It wasn’t even me,” Lovino says, voice coming from somewhere near the stairs.  
“It wasn’t? Then who was it? Who has guns?”  
“I do,” Al says aloud, pulling it from his waistband. Of course Alfred ‘Slaughter’ Jones open-carries; he’s white. “But I’m here. Matt does, but he’s here. Lutz and François do, but they’re in the kitchen and we’d have heard Oliver bitching if one of them pulled a gun out. Gilbert does, but we’d have heard Katyusha if he’d pulled a gun out.”  
“But it sounded like it came from the living room,” Matt points out.  
Nikolai’s face darkens. Without needing the order, Matt and Al cock their guns and go either side of the door, guns pointed upwards. Al goes first, followed by Nikolai, scarf twitching in anger, and Matt brings up the rear.  
“This place is a mess,” Al comments to the empty room, “Ludwig would not be happy.”  
“Katyusha? Natalya?” Nikolai calls in worry.  
“We’re here,” Katyusha slips out from behind the door, Natalya at her elbow with her knives raised.  
“Where are the others?” Matt asks.  
“Are you hurt?” Nikolai asks, grabbing them both and pulling them into a tight hug.  
“We’re okay,” Katyusha answers, hugging him back.  
“Where are the others?” Matt repeats.  
“We don’t know,” Katyusha says, tears welling in her eyes.  
“They’re not hurt, though,” Natalya says.  
“How do you know?” Al asks.  
“Lillya fired the gun. She made some sort of plan with Sofia, entirely in Italian so we couldn’t understand, then repeated it in German to Svetla. They told us to go behind the door, and Lillya fired the gun, and then you came in and you know the rest.”  
“That gunshot didn’t sound like a little handgun,” Al says.  
“It was one of Vash’s.”  
“That must be where Lillya was when I brought Svetla in,” Nikolai says.  
“But where have they gone?” Matt asks.  
“Nicht durch hier,” Lutz says from the kitchen door. His own Luger is in his beefy hands, François just behind him with another gun in his hands and Oliver clinging to his waist.  
“And they didn’t got through the front door, we would have heard the door,”  
“So they’re either in the basement or upstairs,” Nikolai says aloud.  
“No, they have to be in here,” Matt says, “There are only two doors; Lutz and François were blocking one, we’re blocking the other. The window’s closed; there’s nowhere they could have gone.”  
Al scans the room, spotting a foot behind the sofa. A nod to Lutz, and they both stalk over, jumping out on the hidden pair with a yell from Al of “Hands where we can see them, stand up slowly!”  
Rhiona and Seamus stand up slowly, hands on their heads.  
“Where are the others?” Nikolai demands.  
“Don’t know,” Seamus answers, “They made us hide behind here. We didn’t see anything.”  
“You were scared of a bunch of girls?” Al asks with a grin.  
“I am when they’ve got guns, you sexist bastard!”  
Rhiona, silently, points past Nikolai to the stairs visible through the hallway door. Nikolai whirls, just in time to see one of Sofia’s boots disappear out of sight.  
“Natalya, Seamus, get Katyusha and Rhiona into the basement,” Nikolai orders, “Arm yourselves, use a gun if you want Natalya, and keep our sisters safe.”  
“I’m coming with you,” Natalya says plainly.  
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Nikolai says, but doesn’t press the argument any further, Natalya’s face set to determined, “Seamus, take Katyusha to the basement. Matt, stay with Natalya; she gets hurt and I will hurt you. Lutz, Al, with me. François, stay in the kitchen with Oliver. Rhiona, get a weapon and defend the front door. Nobody enters or leaves until I or Matt tell you otherwise.”  
“I don’t need protection,” Natalya spits.  
“I know,” Matt says, handing her a gun, “He’s just playing Protective Big Brother. You should have heard some of the lectures he gave Lily- our Liechtenstein- when she started dating Natasha.”  
“The other me is gay?” Natalya asks, shocked.  
“You’re dating a woman,” Matt answers, “It falls under ‘gay’, I guess.”  
“Be safe,” Katyusha grabs Natalya before she can come with a retort, pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her on the cheek. She does the same to Nikolai before Seamus leads her off to the basement.  
“Kurojiro!” Matt calls, “Hunting!”   
Kurojiro comes barreling from the kitchen, blood clinging to the fur of his jaw. Kuro follows the bear, left hand slowly growing back from his wrist. “We are hunting?”  
“Yes we are, Japaneasy,” Al says, “Lillya, Svetla, Sofia, and possibly some of the other first players have been playing Pew Pew Peg it.”  
“The fuck kind of a game is that?” Kuro asks bluntly.  
“My favourite kind of game,” Al answers.  
“This is why you’re not part of the army.”  
Al frowns, aims his gun, and shoots Kuro in the head, killing him instantly. Nikolai rolls his eyes, and waves some magic at the body to make sure Kuro wouldn’t turn back into Kiku in his sleep.  
“I heard gunshots,” Lorenzo announces from the doorway. Finally dressed, a rifle is slung over his shoulder and his belts are loaded with knives.  
“1ps, Pew Pew Peg it,” Al explains shortly.  
“They’re upstairs,” Nikolai expands, “We think Lovino is with them. Would Eliza be able to fight?”  
“If she can walk, let alone fight, I will be personally offended,” Lorenzo says with a smirk. Lutz pulls a face of disgust.  
“Are there any escape routes upstairs?” Natalya asks.  
“Wenige, doch keine das irgendjemand außer mir und Gilbert kennen,” Lutz answers; a few, but none that anyone but myself and Gilbert know, “Und Fenster.”  
“No trees to climb down, so you’d have to jump,” Matt adds, “And jumping from the windows of a building this tall will only get you a broken ankle.”  
“Not if you’re careful,” Gilbert says from the hallway door, his presence making everyone jump, “But you wouldn’t want to be jumping like that in a skirt.”  
“We thought you’d be upstairs,” Al says, “With the girls.”  
“Picking my battles,” Gilbert says with a shrug.  
“Somebody needs to go upstairs,” Lorenzo says.  
“I volunteer Al,” Matt says quickly. The rest of the group nod and grunt in agreement, and Al hollers, running up the stairs two at a time.  
Gunshots ring out. Silence.  
“They’re definitely still upstairs, then,” Nikolai says bluntly.  
“Should we check on him?” Gilbert asks,  
“How are we gonna get to him without getting shot ourselves?” Matt retorts, “He’ll heal, don’t worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Pew pew peg it' is a game I used to play in my early teens. A friend of mine had a toned-down version of a BB gun, and we would shoot at tourists. My younger brothers used to play the same game with Nerf guns, but Nerf bullets are more expensive to replace than the BB-alike bullets. I feel like Al plays a version of it with real guns. He, Lutz, Toni [2p!Finland] and Lily [2P!Liechtenstein] probably play it like a more dangerous version of paintball. Lily and Toni usually win; Tino's a sniper, and Lily's sneaky.  
> I do not encourage shooting people. It leads to injuries, then the injured's mother bitches at you. Those BB guns didn't even hurt close range, for fuck sake.


	30. Choosing sides; Square

Nikolai, with a hand signal for the others to stay put, makes his way slowly up the stairs. Near the top, a series of guns click their safety off, and Nikolai puts his hands up so the gun holders can see them. “I am going to put my guns and pipe on the floor, where you can see them.”  
He puts the two guns down, and slowly opens his coat to show the pipe before he pulls it out and puts it on the floor. As he raises his hands again slowly, he wriggles his fingers, Matt watching carefully as he stretches out two of them, a sign meaning ‘Second’ or ‘Matt’, presses his thumb to the two fingertips, a sign meaning ‘Write’ or ‘Gilbert’, then points down and behind him; an order for Matt and Gilbert to make their way slowly and quietly up the stairs.  
Sofia creeps out of the bathroom, a gangster-movie gun aimed at Nikolai. “We have four guns pointed at you. Keep your hands above your head, or we’ll shoot.”  
Nikolai steps the final stairs until he stands blocking the staircase. His scarf folds itself around his ankles, making it almost impossible to see the stairs behind Nikolai.  
“We want our freedom,” Sofia says firmly.  
“No,” Nikolai says plainly.  
“You’re not really in the position to be defying us.”  
“I just did.”  
“We have plenty enough bullets to put you out long enough to turn back into Ivan.”  
“I think Vash said something similar,” Nikolai muses aloud, “And now he’s dead.”  
His vision fills with red for a few seconds as Lillya moves her rifle aim up from his stomach to his forehead.  
“Who has the rifle?” Nikolai asks, unable to pinpoint the rifle location beyond it being slightly to his right.  
“Fuck you,” is Lillya’s only response.  
“Vash was pathetic,” Nikolai says plainly.  
“Fuck you,” Lillya repeats a little firmer.  
“He said he would protect you. He failed.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“I would be much better at protecting you.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“I am a wonderful brotherly figure.”  
“You’ve killed people,” Sofia points out.  
“Well, when you bring that up it makes me sound like a terrible person.”  
Al gasps aloud, sitting bolt upright. Sofia jumps in shock, squeezing the trigger and shooting Al in the arm.  
“Little bitch,” Al says plainly, fingering the bullet hole, “I’ve just come back to life and you’re shooting me already.”  
“I was expecting him to turn back into Alfred,” Gilbert whispers to Matt.  
“Nikolai’s not going to let him do that,” Matt whispers back, “His stupid masochism and disregard for danger can come in useful.”  
“Al, Operation Swiss Fire,” Nikolai says plainly.  
“Of course he can remember Operation Swiss Fire,” Matt grumble, “Remembers fuck all else, but can remember Operation Swiss Fire.”  
Lorenzo groans. He grabs his flame thrower, hangs his upper body through the kitchen window and puts the flamethrower on the ground outside before pulling himself back inside the house.  
Al whoops, gets up quickly, runs down the landing and jumps straight through the window, the glass breaking around him. He lands next to the flamethrower, badly, breaking both his ankles as he hits the concrete.  
“What’s Operation Swiss Fire?” Sofia demands.  
“You will find out,” Nikolai answers cryptically.  
“What is Operation Swiss Fire?” Gilbert hisses to Matt.  
“You will find out,” Matt says in a bad Russian accent. Gilbert giggles.  
Still with the red rifle dot aimed at his forehead, Nikolai takes a large, calm step forwards. Sofia re-cocks her gun, aiming at Nikolai “Don’t come any closer!”  
Nikolai stops. “Fine, but you are still not getting your freedom.”  
“You don’t even know how many of us are against you,” Sofia says, “We could easily outnumber you.”  
“I am so outnumbered, you’ve sent a little girl to be your spokesperson,” Nikolai retorts.  
Through the banister, Lutz grabs Matt’s boot. Turning, the Canadian watches Lutz sign his tactics, then nods his agreement. Gilbert, obviously being familiar with German tactics and their signals, sneaks down the stairs, and Matt carefully takes the end of Nikolai’s scarf. The possessed wool wraps around his hand, recognising Matt and allowing him to communicate with it’s wearer.  
“Lutz had an idea,” Matt tells the first in command, “We’re going to have a scout-around. Natalya and Lorenzo are going to climb up through the broken window. Lutz and Gilbert know a couple of escape routes up to the second floor. I’m going to do the old invisible-who? trick, so let me past.”  
“Get Lillya’s ribbon off her,” Nikolai orders. Matt doesn’t answer, but unravels himself from the scarf and turns himself invisible. This wasn’t a gift from Nikolai, but a curse from Matt’s English father after the American Revolution, to try to stop the Canadian from leaving him. It’s a curse he shares with Matthew, but with Nikolai’s help Matt has learned to control it and use it to his advantage. Matthew hasn’t.  
Nikolai leans forwards, rocking onto the balls of his feet. He feels Matt pass, and sees some slight compressions in the carpet, but Sofia doesn’t seem to notice as the Canadian slips silently past her.  
“And what do you think your little revolt is going to get you?” Nikolai asks, careful to look at Sofia not the window. “Because I’m not going to just give you your freedom. You scared poor Katyusha!”  
“We hid her,” Sofia defends, “She wasn’t hurt. And we put Natalya with her so she’d feel safer.”  
Natalya’s head appears at the window, then vanishes as Matt turns her invisible. Glass tinkles to the floor as she climbs through.  
“And where did you even get the guns from?” Nikolai asks.  
“Gilbert’s basement,” Sofia answers, “Except the rifle. That’s Vash’s.”  
“How is little Lillya getting along without Vash?” Nikolai asks sweetly. More glass tinkles to the floor, and there is a soft Italian curse; Matt seems to have had the sense to turn Lorenzo invisible before he appeared at the window.  
“She’s determined not to let Vash down,” Sofia answers, “So watch it.”  
“Oh, yeah, I’m watching,” Nikolai nods, “I’m just thinking there’s not a lot to let down. I mean, his whole “You can’t kill me I’m a country” I think he said- it was so funny. Milan was funny too, “You hurt her and I’ll kill you!” Bless him.”  
A female voice spits a string of curses in German and Italian. Another female voice snaps something in German.  
“Vash was fun to kill,” Nikolai says, a little too happily.  
“He’s just winding you up,” Sofia calls to her left.  
“And he thought he could protect you?” Nikolai laughs, “He was pathetic, trying to hide behind his gun. He bled a lot, didn’t he? Doesn’t suit red, though. Shame.”  
Al wanders up to the Swiss house, Lorenzo’s flamethrower strapped lazily to his back. His boots are tied tighter than before, makeshift splints for his ankles as they healed on his walk south.  
The house is pleasant, even if the grass has grown a little long. The front door hangs open, and Al heads through, dumping his jacket on the floor outside. Guns adorn the walls, and a vase of dead flowers sits on a dresser. The place is dusty, and there is a faint smell of mouldy cheese. A large amount of blood has dried and stuck to the carpet.  
Al walks straight over it, down to the basement. Unlike the large accommodation Ludwig has in his basement, Vash’s basement is full of ammunition. Crates on crates of guns and bullets, fireworks and explosives, with no apparent organisation to the types or the ages or the power. But, according to Vash’s counterpart Basch, there is an order; it is in the optimum order to burn down the house if it is ever needed. The most powerful explosives have been placed under the strongest points of the house, with more hidden in the walls of the buildings above. Weaker explosives have been placed in the middle, and older and less predictable ones have been placed around the edge, with some generic fireworks and nail bombs hidden in those outer crates. Vash is prepared for anything, even a suicide mission.  
At the back of the room, there are multiple tanks of a few flammable liquids, and some gases in the corners. Al takes a tank of petrol first, pouring that over the outer crates. Stronger liquids, some of these being so dangerous that they’re illegal in some parts of the world, are poured over the middle crates. He drags a couple of gas tanks to the middle, pulls a small American flag out of a pocket of his jeans and ties it over his nose and mouth before he opens the valves, the gases leaking out with a hiss. He runs to the back of the room, and opens the last of the gas tanks.  
Al starts himself in one corner of the room. From this corner, he has a direct circuit around the room, finishing in the corner on his right where the stairs begin. From the top of the basement stairs, he will have only a few seconds to run through the house and out the front door before it blows up. Or he could go out the back door, but that would be sensible and Alfred ‘Slaughter’ Jones just doesn’t do sensible.  
He tightens the straps of the flamethrower around himself, and balances the weight of the nozzle in his hands. With a howl of destructive excitement, he squeezes the trigger and swings the nozzle wildly above his head before he sets off, running at top speed, leaving a trail of fire behind him.  
The first corner of gas explodes bigger and sooner then he was expecting, licking the sole of his boots as he only just escapes it. Adrenaline kicks in, and his brain stops trying to hold him back, allowing him to run faster than his muscles are used to, and Al hollers at the rush. He clears the second corner of gas slightly more comfortably, is only by a few centimetres, and goes barrelling up the stairs, through the house and the front door, grabbing his jacket on the way, finger still tight on the trigger leaving a literal trail of smoke behind him, like a character from a 90’s cartoon.

Lillya squeals as something seems to brush her head. Itchy-fingered, Sofia buries a couple of bullets in the carpet, and Nikolai sighs at her childish jumpiness.  
“What the crapola?” Lovino shrieks from Nikolai’s left.  
In the basement, Vash groans in pain, Yao and Katyusha fussing over him. Seamus, Torys, Raivis and Eduard wonder where the smell of smoke is coming from.  
There are two quick taps on Nikolai’s shoulder. He holds his hand out expectantly, and something soft and light is dropped into his palm, British magic reacting with Russian and the ribbon turns visible once more. Nikolai opens it calmly.  
“I suppose this is the last physical memory you would have of Vash, then?” he asks to his right.  
“How did you get that?” Lillya asks, hand flying to her hair to find the ribbon missing. “And how is it the last?”  
“Do you feel that burning sensation on your skin? Like you’re on fire, but it doesn’t hurt, it’s just warmth?”  
Lillya doesn’t answer.  
“Vash is so determined to protect, that even when he’s mostly dead he takes most of your pain. Your home is on fire.”  
“What?!” Lillya cries, “You’re lying!”  
“I’m not. And I guarantee your brother is in agony right now. Stupidly protective, though I suppose I can’t really fault him for that, I would happily do the same for my own sisters.”  
“What are you even trying to accomplish?” Lovino calls.  
“To make sure that this is the last physical memory of Vash,” Nikolai explains, dangling the ribbon between his finger and thumb, “You see, Lillya’s downfall is that she’s very nostalgic, and Sofia’s is that she’s very emotional.”  
Nikolai pulls off the glove of the hand not holding the ribbon, and clicks his fingers. A flame, small and fat like the flame produced by a Zippo lighter, flickers up from the pad of his thumb, icy blue at the base, melting through purple and into red at the very tip, completely unnatural. He holds it to the edge of the ribbon and the flame turns yellow as the ribbon catches alight, and Lillya screams aloud.


	31. Lillya; Dark Night

Lillya runs from her hiding place, in an alcove in the wall, and snatches at the ribbon. Nikolai, being much taller than her, holds it high above her head, Lillya jumping up at it to no avail. He flexes his fingers, the flame dancing on the pad of his thumb extinguishing, and he snatches Lillya by the scruff of her neck.  
“Let go of her!” Sofia barks, running at Nikolai. Lillya kicks at his shins.  
“No, don’t do that!” Lovino cries, but it is too late. Nikolai throws the ribbon to the side, the hair piece seeming to vanish into thin air, and smacks Sofia’s gun out of her hand, grabbing the little girl by her hair. Lillya continue to kick him, and Sofia begins to cry.  
One end of Nikolai’s scarf slinks up and wraps around Sofia’s throat. The little girl chokes as her air supply is cut off, and Lillya begins to beat at Nikolai’s chest and side in desperation.  
“Stop it!” Svetla barks. She comes creeping out of her hiding-place, just through the doorway to the master bedroom, hands above her head. She crouches down, putting her gun on the floor. “Lovino, surrender.”  
A pause. Some Italian curses, and Lovino climbs out of another wall alcove, putting his gun on the floor.  
Looking Svetla directly in the eye, Nikolai squeezes Sofia’s neck harder, snapping her spine and killing her instantly.  
Lillya and Lovino freeze in shock. Svetla screams. Nikolai unravels the scarf, letting the body fall unceremoniously to the floor, purposely not looking at her. Her yellow dress, her soft hair splayed about her head, her little frame, the red pattern of flowers like blood.  
Matt, knowing his boss well, turns Sofia invisible. Lillya’s screaming joins Svetla’s. Lovino frowns in confusion. Mafiosos are used to dead bodies, especially Mafiosos who have been in the business as long as Lovino ‘Fratello Romano’ Vargas, but disappearing dead bodies is a new one on him.  
A beckoning gesture in the direction of the spare bedroom where Nikolai can sense Lorenzo from, and there is a knife in Nikolai’s hand. He drives it straight into Lillya’s chest, carving around her heart, his scarf curling around her limbs to hold her still.  
Svetla throws herself at Nikolai, but something restrains her, like someone is physically holding her back, she can feel their fingers digging into her arms, but there is nobody there. Fighting against the restrainer, she feels something like old leather under her fingers, until her attacker grabs her and forcibly turns her around, twisting one arm behind her back and holding her hair with their other hand, not allowing her to see Nikolai torturing Lillya. Nothing can be done about Lillya’s screams, though, and Svetla cries openly, her face forced into the wall.  
Hands grab Lovino’s arms and feet kick at his shins, knocking him too his knees. They, two people it seems, allow him to bow his head and close his eyes, refusing to look.  
Nikolai pulls the pliers, still caked in Seamus’s blood, from his coat pocket. He positions them around Lillya’s rib, cruelly part-closing them a few times before finally cutting through the curved bone, Lillya’s screams escalating in pitch and volume, and Gilbert finds himself wondering how the neighbours haven’t complained yet.  
With a hoot, Al dives through the still broken window. His jeans and shirt are burnt, the rubber soles of his boots have melted and distorted, his face is smeared with ash and he stinks of smoke and petrol. The only part of him that hasn’t been affected by the fire is his jacket, “Yo, Ruski!” he grins, “I did the thing!”  
“You’d better not have damaged my flamethrower,” Lorenzo, on Lovino’s left arm.  
“Nah, chill, have some pasta,” Al answers.  
One hand releases Lovino. Al reels back, a knife sticking out of his shoulder. Lovino spits something about missing his heart.  
Lillya’s head rolls backward, dead. Nikolai lets go of her, and she falls to the floor.  
“Hey, hows Vash?” Al asks as Gilbert and Lutz come creeping out of their hiding places.  
“I don’t know,” Nikolai admits.  
Lovino curls his hands into fists and slams them backwards into where he thinks the knees of his restrainers are. Lorenzo yells in pain as his knee is hit dead on, Natalya drops Lovino’s arm in shock as Lovino only smacks her shin. Lovino wrenches himself from Lorenzo’s grip and pelts downstairs, Al hot on his heels, no fire pun intended, hollering in excitement.  
Matt turns himself, Lorenzo, Natalya and Sofia visible again. Gilbert picks up Lillya bridal-style, tears rolling freely down his cheeks despite his face being set like stone. Lutz grabs Sofia, throwing her lazily over his shoulder and clumping his way down the stairs, Gilbert following him. Matt shifts, still pinning Svetla to the world, allowing Lorenzo to quickly and painlessly slam a thin needle-shaped knife into her temple, killing her instantly. Matt carries her downstairs, calling “Romano” over his shoulder to Nikolai as he goes.


	32. Nobody expected these two

“Are you alright?” Nikolai asks Natalya.  
“Yes, I’m fine,” Natalya answers. She has changed out of her dress into what looks like a pair of Gilbert’s skinny jeans and a German metal band shirt. Nikolai can understand; nobody would want to be climbing up a wall in a skirt, especially if they’ve got Lorenzo climbing after them. The sheathed knives she usually wears under the dress have been fastened over the jeans, with a spare kitchen knife and a long-barrelled gun fastened into her boots. Her hair is tied up with a thin black hair tie like Matt wears. “We need to get after the Italian.”  
“Ve~”  
“Not you, the other one.”  
“Oh.”  
Nikolai walks calmly downstairs, nodding a greeting to Rhiona leaning against the front door, holding Kuro’s katana. Kuro sits in the corner, smoking a cigarette. Rhiona’s hair is long.  
“Any intruders?” Nikolai asks. Rhiona shakes her head. “Any escapists?”  
“Romano Italia tried,” Kuro answers, “But Prodigy here scared him off.”  
“Well done, Rhiona,” Nikolai praises. Rhiona doesn’t react. “Where did Matt, Lutz and Gilbert go with the girls?”  
“Living room,” Kuro answers, and Rhiona points.  
“And Lovino and Al?”  
Speak of the devil; Lovino comes hurtling down the hall, straight past Nikolai and up the stairs, Al still chasing him.  
“Upstairs,” Kuro answers plainly, and Rhiona points, a small smirk cutting into her freckled face.  
Nikolai rolls his eyes, and heads upstairs. He freezes for a few seconds as gunshots ring out. Al yells in pain, and Nikolai dashes up to the landing, Kuro following him with a knife, Rhiona with the katana, Lutz dashing from the living room to follow as well.  
“What’s going on?” Nikolai demands. “Is everybody alright?”  
“Not really,” Al retorts, hand clamped over his bloody shoulder.  
“He’s the only one injured, so don’t worry,” Lorenzo answers. Kuro breathes an over dramatic sigh of relief, and Al flips him his middle finger.  
“Who did this?” Nikolai asks.  
“Hmm, lemme think,” Al snaps sarcastically.  
Nikolai kicks Al in the chest, knocking him to the floor and stands on his injured shoulder. “Where did he go?”  
Al points with his unpinned arm into the master bedroom, the one Ludwig (and Feliciano) would sleep in.  
“Where did he get the gun from?”  
“Dunno. He just grabbed it from one of German Sparkle Party’s stashes, I think. I didn’t really see.”  
“You were following him.”  
“Doesn’t mean I was watching him.”  
Nikolai grinds his foot into Al’s shoulder before he marches off into the master bedroom. Lovino is backed into the corner, and shoots at Nikolai’s feet when he tries to step close to him. The small man is trembling in fear and anger, and his itchy fingers are wobbling dangerously against the trigger of his hand gun.  
“Come out, Lovino,” Nikolai says plainly, “We will give you tomatoes.”  
“Fuck off,” Lovino answers. And that’s where Lillya gets her potty mouth from.  
“Lutz!” Nikolai barks, “Rhiona!”  
“Ja?” Lutz answers.  
“Get in here and capture the Italian,” Nikolai orders.  
“Wo ist die kleine Baustert?” Lutz asks, striding in, Rhiona just behind.  
“The corner,” Nikolai says.  
“Wir werden nicht tuh dir weh,” Lutz promises not to hurt Lovino, scarred hands held up in surrender, clearly showing the German is not carrying any weapons. “Bitte, setzen die Luger auf den Grund, und wir konnen zusammen sprechen, ja?”  
“No,” Lovino barks, shooting Lutz and narrowly missing his shin, “I’m not dropping the gun, and I am not negotiating with anyone! Get back!” he shoots again.  
Rhiona lowers the katana, and loudly sniffs the air. Nikolai frowns at her.  
“Riechst du dass?” Lutz asks Lovino, “Ich rieche Pizza.”  
Lovino sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.”  
“Ich kanne, ich kanne,” Lutz says determinedly, Rhiona nodding in agreement and Nikolai copying, “Ich denke das es ist dein Antonio, und Oliver und Yao.”  
“He is not my Antonio,” Lovino snaps.  
“Willst du nicht Pizza?” Lutz asks.  
“I don’t smell pizza. And I don’t trust you.”  
Kuro sighs from the doorway. “Come downstairs, and I’ll help you turn all of Ludwig’s potatoes into vodka.”  
“We can do that?” Lovino asks. Lutz and Rhiona make noises of anger.  
“I like the sound of that,” Nikolai agrees.  
“But I’m keeping the gun!” Lovino barks, “And I won’t be following any of your damn orders, either!”  
“Do not precede my orders with a curse!” Nikolai snaps. “I prefer the company of compliant underlings, especially ones with weapons. I don’t need to explain why.”  
“Was that your excuse for killing the Romanovs?” Lovino asks smartly, and everyone else in the room stiffens.  
“Ah… das ist nicht ein gut Thematik erwahnen,” that was not a good thing for Lovino to mention.  
“I didn’t have a choice,” Nikolai growls. Kuro backs out of the room, and Rhiona edges against the wall.  
“Shut the fuck up!” Lovino snaps, “Of course you had a choice! Deaths are easy to fake! Especially children’s, you sick bastard.”  
“Halt. Bitte, nur halt,” Lutz begs Lovino to stop, just stop.  
“They couldn’t have been smuggled out of the country,” Nikolai says through his teeth, “The risk of them being found was too high. It was better that I killed them, and killed them quickly.”  
“So you murdered them? I remember Anastasia. I remember her little voice, “Mister Vanya, Mister Vanya, please dance with me. I’m sorry Mister Vanya, I didn’t know you had guests,” she was so sweet. Was your Anastasia like that too?”  
Nikolai doesn’t answer. Angry tears drip from his eyes, his hands clench and unclench, his scarf writhes in anticipation.  
“She was, wasn’t she? How could you kill something so innocent? It was her parents your citizens wanted, not her. You could have got her away- you should have got her away. She didn’t deserve to die.”  
“I couldn’t do anything!” Nikolai screams. Rhiona ducks out the door, and several footsteps can be heard on the stairs. Matt darts in, followed by Lorenzo and Gilbert. Lorenzo raises his gun to aim at Nikolai’s head. Nikolai breathes deeply, “Are you going to shoot me?”  
“If I have to,” Lorenzo answers.  
“Are you going to _kill _me?”__  
“If I have to.”  
“Would you kill every ‘second player’?”  
“If I had to.”  
“Would you shoot Lorenzo?”  
Lovino pauses, “If I had to. It’s not like he’d actually be dead. Unlike Anastasia.”  
“That was just uncalled for,” Matt says quietly.  
“Er ist immer sie erwachens,” Lutz says.  
“Well, he needs to stop mentioning her,” Lorenzo retorts, but there too much fear in his voice for the sentence to have any bite, “Or shit’s gonna get really ugly, really fast.”  
“I think it’s a bit late for that already,” Gilbert pips, Gilbird hiding in the bandana tied around his owner’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuro has been training Rhiona for the past ninety-ish years, but not Seamus. He's one of the few people who bothers to tell them apart, referring to them as 'Prodigy' and 'Other one'.


	33. Nobody expected these three

“Let’s change the subject,” Matt calls bluntly, clapping his hands together and making Lutz, Lovino and Nikolai jump, “Food. Let’s talk about food. Pizza, pasta, ice-cream, eh? All good, all good. I like ice-cream.”  
A long pause.  
“Pizza,” Lorenzo says, “I like pizza.”  
Lovino nods in agreement. “Pizza’s good. I like pizza, quite a lot.”  
“Lutz, destroy pizza,” Nikolai says.  
Another long pause.  
“Ich kann nicht nur zerstoren ein Essen,” Lutz says plainly. He can’t just destroy a food.  
“Then just destroy all the pizza in the house,” Nikolai snaps.  
“Gibt es kein Pizza in dem Haus,” Lutz answers, “Lorenzo hast es alle gegessen.”  
Lorenzo pats his belly with a happy little smile.  
“Whatever happened to that pizza you could smell earlier?” Lorenzo asks sarcastically.  
“Es gab kein Pizza,” Lutz admits, “Ich habe gelogen.”  
“No shit.”  
“Lorenzo, deal with your brother,” Nikolai orders, teeth grinding.  
“Define ‘deal’,” Lorenzo says plainly, “Do I turn him? Because Flavio is _really_ annoying when he wants to be. Do I just subdue? Because he’s got a gun, and I don’t.”  
“I don’t give a shit what you do, just do something,” Nikolai snaps.  
Lorenzo flusters, arms waving about helplessly, until Matt sighs. “Get Antonio.”  
“No!” Lovino barks, “You leave that stupid bastard alone!”  
Lorenzo dashes out of the room. Gilbert is visibly worried, shoosh papping Gilbird under his neck scarf.  
“Make an alliance with us, and he won’t get hurt,” Matt orders calmly.  
“That’s not how you people work,” Lovino spits.  
“Roderich is in alliance with us, and he’s still his first player.”  
“It’s true,” Gilbert pips when Lovino just glares at Matt. With a nod of permission from Lovino, Gilbert approaches and shows him his journal, “Roderich Edelstein brought into alliance, the day before you and Antonio arrived.”  
Lovino nods. “If I were to make an alliance, I want Antonio, Feliciano, and Sofia to come back to Italy with me,” he announces to Matt and Nikolai.  
“You can have Antonio,” Nikolai growls. Matt just stares evenly.  
“What about Feli and Sofia?” Lovino asks.  
“They’re staying here,” Nikolai answers plainly.  
Antonio yells in confusion from the stairs, and Lorenzo kicks him into the room. Finding Lovino and Gilbert in the corner, the ex-pirate automatically goes over to them, unsheathing a dagger from his boot and holding it out at the ‘second players’, letting Lovino point the gun over his shoulder.  
“I’m getting sick of this - Gilbert get over here!” Nikolai snaps.  
Antonio swings his arm out a Gilbert tries to pass him, trapping the Prussian scribe in the corner.  
Nikolai groans in anger. “Don’t hurt the German. Kill the other two. Kill the Spaniard slowly, and make the Italian watch.”  
Antonio’s eyes widen in fear. Lutz strides up to them, barely being slowed down by Lovino shooting him a handful of times in chest, years of being shot at and stabbed by Lorenzo making him indifferent to metal penetration. He grabs Antonio’s wrist as the Southern man slashes at his chest, squeezing the limb and twisting suddenly to break his arm. Antonio yells, and Lutz rams his fingers into his jaw, suffocating and gagging the man.  
“We surrender!” Lovino yells, throwing the gun at Nikolai. He seizes Antonio, dragging him away from Lutz and shielding him with his body, growling at the German. Gilbert darts away, returning to the safety of the open door.  
“But I was looking forward to burying something!” Lorenzo whines.  
“Bury Lutz,” Nikolai says plainly. “Lovino, Antonio, with me. It’s going to take a long while for me to be able to trust either you. A single fuck-up from either of you, and the other one will be experiencing a lot of pain, am I making myself understood?”  
Lovino and Antonio nod.  
“Lorenzo, track down the Romanian,” Nikolai orders. With a sigh, Lorenzo runs off. “Matt, escort Gilbert down to the Journal Room, make sure he gets all this written down.”  
“But Matt wasn’t even here the whole time,” Gilbert points out.  
“Doesn’t matter,” Matt retorts before Nikolai can, and strides downstairs. Gilbert follows him, confused.  
Lutz sits down against the wall, digging his fingers into his bullet holes, hissing and grunting in pain. Nikolai leaves him there, leading Lovino and Antoni out onto the landing and down into the basement.


	34. Journal I; Fachzeitscrift

The stairs down to the basement start in the cupboard under the stairs. Next to this cupboard is a large painting of Gilbert and Ludwig, painted over the turn of the twentieth century, a joint effort between the Italian brothers. Ludwig, still appearing as a teenager, sits in a large chair with Gilbert stood at his shoulder, Gilbird on the back of the chair. Their country flags stand on poles behind them. Both are wearing lederhosen, which Feliciano still finds ridiculously endearing.

Behind this painting is a square hole, the edge barely an inch away from the edges of the painting, plenty large enough for a person to fit through. Through this hole is another set of stairs, alongside the stairs to Gilbert’s condo, but go much deeper into the earth.

Gilbert holds up the painting to let Matt through, then climbs through himself, setting the painting back in its place. Matt snaps his fingers and slowly uncurls them, white light emitting from his palm; another magic gift from Nikolai. Gilbert takes an electric lantern from the corner and switches it on, following Matt down the stairs

“How do you know about the Journal Room?” Gilbert asks as they walk.

“It’s the same in our universe,” Matt answers.

“But what if it wasn’t?”

“What?”

“What if I hadn’t owned a Journal Room? Nikolai would have looked an idiot, and then you’d have looked an idiot moving paintings about.”

Matt doesn’t answer for a few seconds. “I suppose we just have to assume the similarities are there.”

“That could very easily backfire on you.”

“It sounds like it could, doesn’t it?”

The pair are silent until they reach the bottom of the stairs. There, Matt and Gilbert walk the perimeter lighting flaming torches, and as the room fills with the orange light the pair extinguish their artificial ones. The room is huge, every wall covered in bookcases and more standing back-to-back in rows down the centre. Until about three-quarters of the way across the room, every shelf is overstocked with books, paper and parchment, every page covered in Gilbert’s smudged writing and drawings. Detailed documents, depicting every happening from little Teutonic Knights learning to write, to a couple of months ago when Gilbert filled his last journal.

Matt stands on the furthest left, frowning up at a section of the bookcases against the wall, from when Gilbert had been Teutonic Knights.

“Something wrong?” Gilbert asks.

“No, no,” Matt says, “It’s just that these books don’t exist in my universe. Nikolai destroyed the shelves and burned the books, shortly after our Gilbert died.”

“Why?” Gilbert asks, but then snorts in laughter as he realises exactly what era of  his life Matt is looking at. Over those decades, Gilbert and his Knights had repeatedly laid siege to and tried to invade Rus, otherwise know as Young Ivan.

“What’s so funny?” Matt asks.

“Do you know anything about Russian-Teutonic relations in your universe? Because I get the feeling this universe’s Russia would want to destroy these, too.”

Matt frowns slightly.

“Did you know our Ivan once flashed us - but did it completely wrong?” Gilbert grins, “He lifted his shirt above his head to show us his boobs. Apparently it was a last-resort thing Ukraine had told him to do. He wasn’t surprised it didn’t work. Me and Søren were just really confused.”

Matt sniggers, “Flashing sounds like something our Ukraine would do. Lutz and Nikolai are the only people who complain about it.”

“I like the sound of your Ukraine.”

“Don’t let our Russia or Belarus hear you say that. They’d scratch your eyes out!”

Gilbert pauses, unsure whether Matt’s exaggerating or not. “And he would rather have run naked in the snow than take a bath.”

“Really?”

“Ja. Katyusha would have to chase him for hours.”

Matt laughs so hard he snorts.

* * *

 

The men sit cross-legged on the floor, Matt reciting the happenings of the ‘battle’ between Nikolai and Lovino as if reciting a poem or script. Gilbert writes it all down quickly, practically word-for-word.

“How do you know all this?” Gilbert asks.

Matt doesn’t answer. He just stares down at the smudged writing of the journal.

Gilbert tries again; “How do you know?” but is still left unanswered. “Nikolai said you had information- did he mean stuff like this?”

There is a long pause before Matt answers; “Yes.”

“Where did you get this information from?”

Matt doesn’t answer.

“Is it some sort of magic thing? Like your light?”

“Not really.”

“Then what is it?”

Matt sighs. “I… just learnt a list.”

“A list? Like a plan?”

“If that’s how you understand it, yes.”

“Who made the plan? Nikolai?”

“Kinda.”

“‘Kinda’? What does that mean?”

“It means ‘kinda’.”

Gilbert groans in exasperation, and Matt chuckles.

“I’m not really allowed to tell you,” the Canuck says, “But the easiest explanation is that this is all Nikolai’s plan. I’m just the one who memorised his plan.”

“And the complicated explanation?” Gilbert presses.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why? No one’s here? I’m awesome at keeping secrets.” Gilbird tweets as Gilbert uses his favourite word again.

“I know. But Nikolai will know if I do. And he kind of wants to tell you himself. Later.”

“Does he? I can act surprised.”

“He won’t fall for it. Just keep me out of trouble and let it go, okay.”

“Der Schnee glanz weiß auf der Bergen heut’ Nacht…” Gilbert begins to sing, and Matt takes a journal off the shelf to throw at him.

 

* * *

 

The other universe

Yong-Su sighs as Lily and Sophie collapse. He crosses both their names off the list Matt wrote up for him, and waits for them to cross over, drumming on the table idly on the table. Yang pats him on the head.

“You’re doing well, dìdi,” Yang says gently.

Decades previous, Yong-Su would have been thrilled to hear those words from his older brother, but now they just feel pedantic. The room crackles with magic, and Lillya and Sofia jolt awake.

Yong-Su takes a deep breath and launches into the greeting speech Matthias had helped him prepare; “Please do not be alarmed, representatives of Liechtenstein and San Marino. You are in the universe of what you call ‘the second players’. Accommodation has been prepared for your arrival, so if you would kindly follow Natasha and Yang, they will take you there. We hope you find it comfortable.

“This is a socialist community, and we will have to ask you to fill in your counterpart’s work. We understand that there may be some moving around of allotted duties; for this please speak to Mattias in the library, or Bell and Holl in the farmhouse. The library, the farmhouse and some other important places will be pointed out to you as you pass them. You are currently in the Starting House. This is the only time you will visit the Starting House while you’re here; once you leave this place is completely off-limits to you.

“All residents of this community carry weaponry. This is the only time you will be warned of this.

“Rules here are very simple: pull your weight, don’t take anything more than you are given, stay out of the Starting House, and we will all get along. You will be given food and clothing. Stealing is considered one of the worst crimes in this community. Punishments range from temporary loss of luxuries to being tortured. Please don’t disrespect our rules.”

Yong-Su puts the speech down. “Zwingli, your counterpart is a military leader. However, if this is an issue for you, Alfred Jones is filling his counterpart’s duty of food distribution and will be happy to swap with you. Vargas, you co-”

“Vargas-Diacono,” Sofia interrupts.

“I don’t give a shit,” Yong-Su says bluntly, and Yang flicks him on the ear, “Well, I don’t. Your counterpart works in the blacksmith’s, making weaponry. You like weaponry, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Sofia answers bluntly, “I also like my home world.”

“Tough luck. All you ‘first players’ say the same shit, and I ran out of fucks to give when Ivan arrived, and it was Matt who dealt with him, not me. You will be expected to begin work tomorrow morning. The military begins drills at six. The blacksmith’s opens at eight. Jones will be delivering food to your accommodation at five tonight, provided he is on time, so you, Zwingli, should be able to speak to him then concerning any duty shifts. I will tell you that Jones has been advised against making a scene should you not want to change your duty.

“Now, if you would follow Natasha and Yang, they will take you on a tour around the village then take you to your temporary home. There is a change of clothes already there, as we are aware you may not want your current clothing to get damaged.” The girls looks down at their bloodied clothing, and pull faces of disgust. Yong-Su checks the back of his speech card for his final sentence; “Have a nice day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fachzeitschrift is German for Journal  
> Soren is 1p Denmark  
> The song Gilbert sings is the German version of Let It Go from Frozen  
> Yong-Su is 2p Korea  
> Yang is 2p China  
> Lily is 2p Liechtenstein  
> Sophie is 2p San Marino  
> Dìdi is Chinese for (Younger) Brother [Thank you anon for the correction]  
> Mattias is 2p Denmark  
> Natasha is 2p Belrarus  
> Bell is 2p Belgium  
> Holl is 2p Holland


	35. Vash; Likeness

Katyusha dashes up to Natalya and Nikolai as they reach the basement, tears swelling in her eyes as she twitters in Russian about gunshots and worry.

“We are fine,” Nikolai soothes, hugging her tight. Natalya mumbles in agreement, allowing herself to be dragged into the hugs.

Yao smiles at the scene, thinking of his own siblings. He realises he should contact Young-Soo to apologise for not believing him, but looking after Vash and comforting Katyusha have kept him rather occupied. Antonio squeaks at the cuteness of the trio, hugging Lovino, who just shrugs him off.

“What about the others?” Katyusha asks, pulling herself slightly from the hug, “Sofia, Svetla, Lillya; they’re fine too, aren’t they?”

“Lovino is right here,” Nikolai sas, “And Antonio, they’re fine.”

“I didn’t ask about them. Not because I don’t care, but because I can see they’re fine. I want to know about my female friends, Nikolai, where are they?”

Nikolai doesn’t answer. He tries to pull Katyusha back into the hug, but she snatches her arm away, tears welling back up again.

“What’s wrong?” her voice wavers as she speaks, “Did someone get hurt, Little Brother?”

“Sofia, Svetla and Lillya are dead,” Natalya says bluntly, yet quietly.

Katyusha’s tears overflow, “But who would do such a thing?!”

“Nikolai did,” Natalya answers.

“Why would you do that?!” Katyusha sobs, backing away slowly. Yao steps forward to comfort her, but stops when Nikolai raises his hand.

“No, no, don’t be scared,” Nikolai says gently, “They attacked me. They had guns - it was self-defence.”

“And what if I attacked you?” Katyusha demands, still crying, “Would you kill me, or Natalya?”

“I don’t know,” Nikolai answers honestly, “It would be difficult for me to kill family.”

“You said that they were family! You said you loved all of us, why would you kill them?” Katyusha’s sobs have escalated into hysterical screaming, drawing the Baltic Trio from a nearby room, Raivis shaking in fear.

“I didn’t want to,” Nikolai says firmly, still keeping his voice soft, “Of course I love you all. I only hurt them to stop them from trying to hurt anyone else.”

“They’ll heal, won’t they?” Torys offers.

“I don’t know,” Nikolai answers honestly.

“But they have to!” Katyusha cries, “You can’t have hurt them so badly they can’t heal… can you.”

“Mister Germany has scars,” Raivis points out, “And so does Mister England, and I think Mister America had some too.”

Katyusha screams in fear and misery, and Nikolai and Natalya glare at Raivis.

“Just come with me,” Nikolai says to Katyusha gently, “It is safe - no one is going to hurt you or anybody else.”

He turns and heads back up the stairs past Lovino and Antonio, pausing to let Katyusha catch up with him. Natalya stays in the basement, picking up her dress to change out of her borrowed clothes.

“Lutz!” Nikolai barks, “Where have you put the girls?”

“Wohnzimmer,” Lutz answers from the stairs.

Katyusha follows Nikolai into the living room, concerned about the amount of blood on Lutz’s skin and clothes. She screams aloud at the bodies propped up along the couch, leant on each other as if they’ve simply fallen asleep together.

“It’s alright, they’ll wake up soon,” Nikolai soothes.

“There’s so much blood,” Katyusha sobs.

“They’ll be alright.” Nikolai promises, “Come, sit down, I’ll set Lutz to clean it up.”

Katyusha sits down in the armchair Nikolai usually claims. Nikolai barks some short orders at Lutz, who scurries to the kitchen for bleach and a cloth.

Sophie wakes up first. She is slightly taller than Sofia, and broader. Her head has been shaved short for safety around fire and weapons, and her jaw is smudged with oil. She wears stained overalls hanging around her hips and a sports shirt, revealing arms too toned and muscular for a girl the age she appears to be.

“Welcome,” Nikolai says warmly.

Sophie sticks her middle finger up at him. She stands up, stretching her arms up above her head. She licks her lips a few times, breathing deeply. “The air tastes nice. D’they have hot water here?”

“ _Running_ hot water,” Nikolai answers.

Sophie’s face lights up, and she dashes out of the room, straight up the stairs.

“Rhiona?” Nikolai calls, “Go look after Sophie. Help her with the shower.”

With a roll of her eyes, Rhiona gives Kuro’s katana back to him and runs up the stairs after Sophie, who lets her into the bathroom with her.

Lily sits upright. Her hair, like Lillya’s, is boyishly short. She wears a green military uniform, appearing to be Swiss. A long purple ribbon is knotted around her wrist, and Katyusha notices its similarities with Natalya’s hair ribbon. A holster hangs on the girl’s hips with a pair of guns and a pouch of spare ammunition, and a rifle is slung on her back. Her face is harder than Lillya’s, mature and haunted.

She grabs one of the handguns as gunshots ring from the basement. A series of clatters from the kitchen as Lutz drops his cleaning equipment and Al drops his food, the men dashing through into the living room.

Footsteps come dashing up from the basement, and Raivis bursts in, sobbing. “Mister Russia! Mister Switzerland is awake.”

“Basch?” Lily asks. Her voice is deeper, hoarser, than Lillya’s, broken with shouting and barking.

“No, still Vash,” Nikolai answers. “At least I hope so. Vash would be trapped a long time in the other universe if he crossed without anyone knowing.”

“Why the fuck have you got a handgun?” Al asks suddenly, and everyone frowns at him. “You have a rifle _right fucking there_.”

Lily sighs. “Handguns are easier to carry and shoot short-range. Rifles are shit for short range, and really shouldn’t be shot in confined spaces.”

“This is why you’re not part of the military, Al,” Kuro says bluntly.

“Fuck you, I’d be awesome on the military.”

“You’ve already been on the military. You were awful.”

“If we can stop squabbling,” Lily snaps, “We might get some shit done.”

Nikolai marches straight through the soldiers, assigning Lily to look after Katyusha and Kuro to calm down Raivis as he heads down into the basement.

Blood stains the front of Vash’s overalls, and shadows cling to the undersides of his eyes. A gun, one of Gilbert’s, is balanced in his hands. Yao sits against the wall, cradling his leg, blood running from a bullet in his knee.

“You hurt Yao,” Nikolai growls.

“Where is Lillya?” Vash growls back.

“Lillya is fine,” Nikolai says.

“Where is she?”

“Not here.”

“So…” Vash says slowly, “She’s back in Liechtenstein?”

“No. She’s in the other universe.”

“Bring her back!” Vash snaps, cocking the gun, “Now!”

“But to do that, I would have to hurt her,” Nikolai answers, lying with a concerned pout.

Vash stares at him. “Hurt how?”

“An internal pain. Burning pain, I remember, as your molecules are torn apart and re-organised on the other side of the stream And, of course, there is a risk of being put back together wrongly, and I don’t want to be repeatedly crossing people back and forth between our universes.”

Vash lowers his gun slightly, face crestfallen. Torys creeps out of the living room, past Vash to Yao with a first-aid kit and some strong painkillers.

“Come meet Lily,” Nikolai urges, “She would be grateful for a strong Big Brother like you. Her brother is very dangerous and often tries to attack her. It hurts her. I would be very grateful to you if you could spend just a little time with her.”

Vash glares at him, “Lillya is my little sister.”

“I know. But Lillya is not here.”

“The other me isn’t going to attack Lillya, is he?”

“No. He is locked up, and my own sister Natasha is making sure he stays there. Lillya is safe.”

Vash is silent for several long seconds. Eventually, he nods, putting the safety on the gun and fastening it into a holster on his thigh.

He follows Nikolai back up the stairs, Nikolai casting a quick charm on Yao to get rid of the pain in his leg as Torys works the bullet out.

“Lily?” Nikolai asks, “Come say hello to Vash.”

The Zwingli ‘siblings’ simply stare at each other for almost a full, silence heavy minute. Their uniforms are alike, their hair is alike, their stances are alike. Katyusha wonders if there had been some sort of crossover in the past, and Lily and Lillya were accidentally trapped in the wrong universes.

Lily clicks her booted heels together and sticks her right hand out. “Sergeant Major Zwingli of the New World Military.”

Vash takes her hand and shakes it firmly. “Staff Sergeant Zwingli of the Swiss Defence.”

Silence.

Lily grins. “I out-rank you, Big Brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sergeant Major Zwingli is third in command in the military. In the New World Military, Kuro is the leader, and Lutz is second as he is Nikolai's representative there.  
> Staff Segeant is fairly low, nothing impressive. It keeps attention away from Vash. Plus, I think he'd rather be with his fellow soldiers than an office.  
> Al is not in the military due to his 'shoot now, ask questions later' habits. However, he did form the military.
> 
> Two hundred years ago in the 'other' universe, there was a huge war which basically kick-started the apocalypse. After this war, there was a huge existential revelation which lead to several nations having mental and/or psychotic breakdowns.  
> Basch [2p!Switzerland] had a psychotic breakdown and has not recovered. He lives locked in the basement of his previous home, which was burned down before the war, so he can't attack anyone. He mostly attacks Lily and Natasha.  
> Oliver had a psychotic breakdown which lead to memory suppression and then memory loss. His baking was originally a form of therapy for him, but warped into his psychotic episodes, which when combined with food shortages lead to his cannibalism. He also 'lost' his magic; his siblings decided his psychotic episodes made him unfit for powerful magic so Scottie [2p!Scotland] took all their magic and gave it to Nikolai.  
> Gilbert [the 'other' Gilbert] had a mental breakdown which lead to depression which lead to his suicide one-hundred-fifty years later.  
> Yakertina and Natlya were mostly okay. However, their relationship with Nikolai broke down.  
> Matt had a mental breakdown, but as Al was trying to rebuild the military, Oliver was having a psychotic breakdown and Francois had become Oliver's carer, there was no one to look after him until Nikolai found him in Alaska. Nikolai become Matt's carer and teacher, and roughly seventy years later Matt had become second in command.


	36. Alistair; 'Defender of mankind'

Basch scrabbles at the door, howling and screaming, cursing in German and some old language Lillya can barely understand.

“Are you ready?” Natasha asks.

Lillya doesn’t answer. She stares at the door, dented and old and worn, ready to break, already re-fixed many times.

She swapped duties with Alfred. Alfred didn’t seem happy, but didn’t seem upset. He was mostly indifferent. His eyes have dulled since he’s been here. He was limping, after Yong-Su broke and purposely re-set his leg wrong for trying to run away from the village. It has had to be fixed properly since their duty swap, with the threat of much worse hanging heavy over the American’s head.

Lillya doesn’t live in the Residency, an old hotel, with the others, but in a bungalow with Natasha. There is a door at the back of this bungalow that works like a teleport to the front door of the ruins Basch is kept in. He is kept under the ashen remains of what Natasha says used to be his and Lily’s home, before it was burnt down by American troops at the beginning of the war that ended their world. The basement has been rebuilt with stone and metal, the thick metal door the only thing keeping Basch below them.

Natasha unlocks the chain, and the scrabbling stops for a few seconds before Basch bursts out, howling like a rabid animal. He stops short, a long chain padlocked around his neck strangling him and holding him back. Natasha pokes him with a long stick, and he retreats into the basement with a displeased growl.

His hair is long, but brushed. He’s surprisingly clean, if his clothes are a little ragged and his skin bruised and scratched. His teeth are yellow but intact, his eyes are wild but clear and bright, he is thin but not weak or malnourished.

“Oliver gives us tranquilisers so we can keep him clean,” Natasha says, “Every now and then, we manage without them; just a warning and some music is enough. Sometimes we need extra doses. It varies.”

“At least you manage,” Lillya tries a compliment. Natasha doesn’t respond.

* * *

 

 

Nikolai knocks on the door to the bathroom. Several seconds, and Rhiona unlocks the door. Sophie is wrapped in a dressing gown, her clothes soaking the sink. Some suds still cling to the girl’s head, and the mirror and window are completely steamed up.

“How is everything going back home?” Nikolai asks Sophie.

“Why are you asking me?” Sophie retorts, “Lily arrived after me, and actually sort of gets along with you.”

“Only because she is dating my sister. And she is with Vash at the moment. So I am asking you instead.”

Sophie sighs. “Yong-Su has taken over leadership. Yang and Natasha are giving out tours. Exactly as you and Canuck planned.”

“Very good,” Nikolai gives Sophie a smile, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me that.”

“You asked. Now can you piss off, I want a bath.”

“But weren’t you just in the bath?”

“No, I was in the shower. I didn’t want a bath because I was really mucky and it wouldn’t have been nice. But I’m clean now, so it should be really good.”

With a nod of understanding, Nikolai steps out of the bathroom. Katyusha waves at him as he comes down the stairs, the Ukrainian heading down into the basement with a large saucepan of soup for the others, Kuro following with a basket of bread.

The door flies open. That door has flown open so many times in this story, it’s a miracle it’s intact. Milan Žagar stands, eyes and nostrils wide, breathing through bared teeth, multiple weapons slung from his shoulders and hips.

“Hello again,” Nikolai says bluntly.

“What have you done to my mother?” Milan demands.

“Lorenzo killed her,” Nikolai answers honestly, “Long, thin blade, straight to the temple. Instant, painless; she didn’t even know it happened.”

“Where is he?”

“Anywhere between here and Romania.”

Milan growls. “Did you order it.”

“Basically, yeah, I did. It wasn’t a specific order, _per se_ , but unfortunately Svetla had to die. So she died. Simple as that really.”

Milan swings up a gun, a bulky-looking machine gun. He snaps off the safety, tears burning fire in his eyes, and lifts it up, aiming for Nikolai.

He falls to the floor with a knife sticking from his forehead. Lutz stands in the doorway of the kitchen, arm outstretched, fingers soft in a loose fist, faced pulled down into a serious expression not suiting the grin lines in his cheeks. Milan, much like his mother, never saw it coming.

“Good aim,” Nikolai compliments.

“Danke. Lorenzo hast mir gelehrt,” the grin creeps back onto Lutz’s face as he mentions Lorenzo teaching him.

A wave of his hand, and Nikolai has charmed Milan to change into his counterpart when he wakes up. Lutz pulls the knife from his head and carries the man upstairs to a spare bedroom.

Seamus leans in the kitchen doorway, frowning slightly.

“Something the matter, Seamus?” Nikolai asks.

“Aye,” Seamus answers.

Nikolai frowns. “There’s a problem?”

“Aye.”

“What is it?”

Seamus points to the front door. There, in the open doorway, stands a man. He is tall, broad, red-haired, kilted, and bloody pissed off.


	37. Rhiona; Royalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note; Alistair swears a lot, to the point it doesn't usually mean anything.  
> Also, he uses obscure slang and expletives from all over Britain, and not necessarily Scottish. I've put a "Just so you know" after most weird words. Please note that some of this jargon is very obscure and only used in specific small areas in Britain. Using these words outside of these areas may lead to confusion, or in some cases offence.

“Privyet,” Nikolai greets warmly. Seamus slinks back into the kitchen.

“The _fuck_ are you?” Alistair, representative of Scotland, asks shortly.

“Russia,” Nikolai answers.

Alistair frowns. “I remembered you being paler. White as the British government you were, hair and all.”

“You say that as if we’ve met many times.”

“True,” Alistair pulls a face, and pulls a cigarette and a zippo from the pocket of his shirt, “Now, why the fuck have the fae folk been flipping their shit about an overload of magic in Germany?”

“Yes, that was me,” Nikolai admits merrily, “I’ve just been raising the dead. Typical day at the office.”

Alistair stares at him. “Who’re you resurrecting, like?”

“Svetla,” Nikolai answers. “Aside from that; Liechtenstein, Switzerland, a few others- I lose track. Canada is much better at remembering these things than I am.”

“Our Mata’s a good lad,” Alistair nods, then peers at Svetla as Nikolai points her out. The military soldiers and Al have slunk into the kitchen to hide. “You’ve done a shit job reviving her; she’s still dead.”

“Yes, I am debating not resurrecting her.”

“Why’s she died in the first place?”

“She was attacking myself and my family. You’re an older brother; you’d have done the same.”

“Killed her clean-like, didn’t you?” Alistair comments, brushing the pad of a finger over the wound, cigarette hanging lazily from her mouth.

“I can’t actually take the credit,” Nikolai admits, “That was Lo- North Italy.”

“I thought Lovino was the South?” Alistair frowns.

Nikolai pauses, faltering slightly. “May I ask you a question?”

“You just did, ye’ silly cunt.”

“Then another. Why are you here? You could have stayed in Scotland, not worried.”

“‘Cause I had our Flying Mint Bunny come twittering about Sean and Erin and Artie and some sort of magic and blood and hands and hearts and I don’t even fucking _know_. And, while my siblings might be a bunch of little shits, they’re _my_ little shits. I’ve raised the bastards, I’ve fought the bastards, I’ve fought _for_ the bastards, and I’ll be fucked with a pike afore I let some Eastern wufter hurt them.” So you know, a ‘wufter’ is a gay male prostitute.

“You know, I much prefer your counterpart,” Nikolai says bluntly, “He’s much quieter.”

“Tough shit. If you want quiet, I’ll be taking my siblings and be off.”

“They’re not your family anymore.”

“The fuck d’you mean?”

“They’re my family now.”

Alistair stares at him, slack-jawed. “No, that’s not how ‘family’ works. You can’t just take someone’s family away from them, that just don’t fucking work.”

“Well, that’s what I did. I took England, both Irelands, and both North Americans. And France.”

Alistair’s expression melts from confused to angry. “What do you mean ‘took’.”

“They all joined me,” Nikolai smirks with victory, “They are all part of my family now. Matt is in the Journal Room, Al is in the kitchen, Rhiona is upstairs, Seamus is in the basement, and Oliver and François are either in the kitchen or one of the spare bedrooms.”

“I don’t who half those fuckers are,” Alistair says bluntly, “Now if you’re not going to be of any fucking help or interest to me, I’ll be rounding up the relatives and pissing off, aye?”

“Good luck,” Nikolai says plainly.

Alistair storms past him, barreling into his shoulder as he goes. He stops in the hallway, staring at the stairs. Rhiona stands there, hair at least twice the length of Erin’s, clothes too feminine, face too freckled, frame too bony.

“The fuck has happened to you?” Alistair asks quietly.

Rhiona doesn’t answer. She stands, expression torn between fear and pain.

“Go round up the rest of us family, my jo,” Alistair tells her gently before turning to Nikolai and screaming full in his face; “The _fuck_ have you _done_ to _my wee sister_ , you greedy bear-wanking _devil?_!”

Rhiona slinks past him, heading to the basement stairs.

“Rhiona, where do you think you’re going?” Nikolai asks shortly.

“Which fodger-fuck d’you say was in the basement?” Alistair growls. So you know, a ‘fodger’ is a foreigner.

“Seamus,” Nikolai answers, “North Ireland, as you know him.”

A growl begins to rumble in the back of Alistair’s throat. “Are you fetching Seamus, my jo?” So you know, ‘jo’ is a pet name, like ‘dear’ or ‘love’.

Rhiona nods, and Nikolai’s expression warps into anger. Alistair laughs directly in his face.

“I’m her _actual_ brother. You were just a replacement,” Alistair says, blowing sweet cigarette smoke into Nikolai’s face as he speaks, “And a shit one at that; I’m almost pissed.”

Nikolai shoves past Alistair, grabbing Rhiona by the hair and throwing her into an armchair, ignoring her yell of pain. The ends of his scarf fold around Alistair’s chest as the Scot tries to intervene, the wool holding him back. Rhiona struggles against Nikolai, the Russian pinning her by twisting her arm.

The room falls silent at a sickening crunch. Nikolai lets go of Rhiona as she snatches her broken arm, cradling it to her chest.

Alistair backs away, the scarf unravelling from his torso, hands above his head in surrender, face shocked, worried and a little afraid. His cigarette has fallen from his mouth and he stamps out the small fire the ash has created. “There was no need for that, cock.” So you know, ‘cock’ isn’t meant as an insult but is used to refer to male friends. So are ‘mate’ and ‘cocker’.

“I don’t care,” Nikolai spits.

“Just let my little sister go, this is between you and me, sir.”

“Let me think,” Nikolai says sarcastically, “No.” He turns back to Rhiona, “You’re not going to try to disobey your Big Brother Kolja like that again, are you?”

Rhiona shakes her head quickly.

“She’s coming with me,” Alistair says firmly, “And so are the rest of them; they aren’t stay with a violent fuck like you.”

“What the fuck made you think that was a sensible thing to say in this situation?” Nikolai asks plainly, one end of his scarf wrapping around the wrist of Rhiona’s broken arm and pulling it up above her head.

“Y- you’re hurting her!” Alistair splutters, “What kind of Big Brother… whatever-the-fuck-you-said are you if you hurt your wanking little siblings?!”

“I don’t like her disloyalty,” Nikolai says plainly, “I’ve never known you to be like this, Rhiona. I am so disappointed in you.”

“Loyalty? What the fuck? That’s not a family, this sounds to me like fascism. You’re just a bit shit at this whole ‘family’ thing, aren’t you?”

Nikolai ignores him, taking Rhiona’s broken arm by the wrist and the elbow. With a quick pain-removing charm, he pulls the bone back into place.

“And now we may talk like adults,” Nikolai says plainly. “Would you like a seat?” he gestures to the couch, bloody and partially taken by Svetla’s corpse.

“I’m alright, Alistair says plainly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mata; Gaelic diminutive of Matthew  
> Kolja; (sometimes written Kolya) diminutive of Nikolai


	38. Seamus; 'One who replaces'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood and gore warning for this chapter

“How long does it take to get from here to Britain?” Nikolai asks Lutz.

“Ich kenne nicht,” Lutz shrugs, wandering in from the kitchen with Oliver skipping just behind him.

“Four hours by train, an hour by plane, up to twelve hours by boat, two seconds by teleportation magic,” Oliver chirps.

“So he could be anything between five minutes and two days?” Nikolai asks with a childish pout.

“Who?” Matt asks. He stands in the hallway door, Gilbert at his elbow with his journal hugged to his chest like a school child and Gilbird on his shoulder.

“Alistair,” Nikolai answers.

“Where’s your coat gone?” Gilbert asks.

“I gave it to Rhiona. She was cold.”

“Such a gentleman,” Matt says dully, “And he won’t be long. And it won’t be cold when he gets back.”

“Why not?” Gilbert asks.

“He’s a bringing a dragon.”

“A motherfucking dragon!” Al hollers, appearing out of nowhere. “Hey, do you think any of the lovely ladies will be taking their tops off?”

“Why would anyone be taking their tops off?!” Gilbert yells, Gilbird tweeting angrily, the rest of the room just staring at the American in varying degrees of anger and disbelief.

“Because there’s going to be dragons.” And now most people are just confused.

“You’re going to have to explain that logic, poppet,” Oliver says curiously.

“It’s what Khaleesi did.”

Matt smacks a hand to his forehead, “First of all, her name is Daenerys, Khaleesi is her title. Second, there isn’t a dragon-to-boob correlation. Just because there are dragons does not mean there is going to be boobs. Third, none of the women here are Dothraki, or connected to any Dothraki. Fourth, none of the women here are known for taking their top off.”

“Can I take Al’s top off?” Oliver asks sweetly.

“Willst du hilfe?” Lutz offers his help.

“Oh, would you, sweetie?”

Al tries to run away as Lutz approaches him, but as he passes Rhiona she kicks him in the shin, tripping him. Lutz is on him in seconds, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him through the kitchen and out into the garden, where the tools from the semi-unnecessary fight still lay on the muddy ground. Al is shoved down, and kicked back down at every attempt to climb up.

Oliver finds the chainsaw. With a wipe of a cloth, it is is free from mud, rainwater and wool strands, and in perfect working condition. Here’s a joke for you; what’s the difference between Alfred ‘Slaughter’ Jones and an onion?

People cry when you cut an onion in half.

 

* * *

 

Gilbert sits down on the couch between Svetla and Rhiona, the journal open in his lap. Gilbird flaps over to Rhiona and nestles down into her braided knot of hair, cooing happily from under Nikolai’s coat.

“That was really cool,” Gilbert says to her.

“She was a knight, remember?” Matt says, sitting himself on the coffee table. Nikolai reclaims his armchair.

“You were a knight, too?” Gilbert asks, “I know Erin was, I used to hire her help all the time, but you seem too mellow to be a knight.”

“You haven’t seen her with a katana,” Nikolai says, “She once cut Young-Su’s head clean off his shoulders for making lewd gestures at her.”

“Ask Lutz about the scar on his face,” Seamus says, wandering in with a tray of mugs of coffee.

“You did that?” Gilbert asks Rhiona, impressed.

“She caved his head with a saucepan,” Nikolai says with a macabre smile.

“There was a knife involved as well,” Matt adds, “Stuck the knife in his jaw, beat him with the pan until his skull split open. It was gross.”

“It was beautiful,” Seamus grins nostalgically.

“Why do none of them let you speak for yourself?” Gilbert asks. The entire dialogue, he has been facing and addressing Rhiona.

“She doesn’t talk much,” Seamus answers, “She took a vow of silence a century and half ago.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Oliver became a cannibal, would use Scottie to get his ‘ingredients’, but never took enough to kill him. Scottie was always too exhausted to talk, and Rhiona decided to stop talking too. I mostly talk for her, and Will talks for Scottie.”

“Will and Scottie being…?”

“Dylan and Alistair,” Matt clarifies.

Kuro pokes his head through the door, “Can I borrow your pipe?”

“No,” is Nikolai’s answer.

“Please? I want to help beat Al up.”

“Tempting… fair trade; give me your katana.”

Kuro hands over the sheathed blade, taking the pipe and dashing through to the kitchen.

“I get the feeling that Al is the hated one of the… whatever you call yourselves.”

“‘Hated’ is a strong word,” Nikolai muses aloud, “‘Fucking annoying’ fits better. Or ‘Pain in the ass’.”

“Yes, he’s the ‘hated’ one,” Matt says plainly, earning a dull smack to the back of the head from Nikolai’s scarf.

Nikolai unsheathes Kuro’s blade, looking over it with interest. He runs the blade over his palm, cutting it open without even a flinch, the blood running out and dripping from the back of his hand onto the carpet. But instead of stopping, satisfied by the sharpness of the blade, Nikolai continues to run the blade back and forth, as if the katana is the bow of a macabre violin playing a tune only Nikolai is able to hear. His blood gathers in a puddle, the red spreading over the carpet. Rhiona watches him with fascination. Matt watches with a bored expression, like he’s watching a children’s show he’s already seen several dozen times but it’s his little cousin’s favourite so he has no choice in watching it again and again. Gilbert, of course, watches in absolute horror because what the fuck is even going on?

The blood pool spreads, then as Nikolai continues it begins to move by itself, flowing like a gory river over the carpet to re-gather in the empty space of the doorway where it splits into two and begins to pile up, growing taller.

When Nikolai puts the blade down, the blood has ‘built’ itself into a shape Nikolai’s height, width, silhouette… it’s a clone of Nikolai made entirely of blood and magic. As Gilbert watches, the red darkens then brightens, then settles itself into different colours; Nikolai’s dark hair, pale skin, faded clothes.

“Oh, god, one of you is bad enough,” Gilbert says bluntly, forgetting to think.

Both Nikolais laugh. It’s surreal, watching two identical men laugh the exact same echoey laugh at the exact same time.

Gilbert is so caught up in this surrealism that he doesn’t notice the shape barging towards the window until the creature crashes straight through the glass in a flurry of red scales and flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhiona does talk to Gilbert, but not when others (specifically one of her relatives) are around.  
> Rhiona sometimes helps out the military by taking shifts. Shifts of soldiers patrol the borders of the village, keeping out animals and mutants. She tends to fight with a sword.


	39. Dylan; Great Tide

“I get the feeling I’m supposed to be impressed,” one of the Nikolais says dully.

Gilbert stares in confusion at the broken window. He jumps in shock when Alistair and Dylan, representative of Wales, appear out of seemingly nowhere. There is a strong smell of smoke and lamb chops, and the sound of heavy, raspy breathing.

“Not impressed,” Alistair says plainly, “Threatened..” He stops, looking from Nikolai to the other and back again, “There’s fucking two of you!”

“Is there?” both Nikolais say sarcastically.

Something growls loudly. One of the Nikolais’ hair is blown back by some random wind or something. It’s hard dealing with magical creatures when you can’t see them yourself. It’s hard and everyone in the room, sans the Kirklands and Nikolai, understands.

“Bad dragon,” Nikolai says, flicking at air, and something whines.

“Don’t do that!” Dylan snaps, “Keep your hands off my baby.”

“We brought the dragon to attack him with,” Alistair says slowly.

“Doesn’t mean he can go smacking Cymru on the nose!” Cymru is pronounced Kum-ree. So you know. “Who are we attacking, anyway?”

“Uhh….” Alistair trails off, “One of them,” he gestures to the Nikolais, “But I don’t know which one.”

“There are two of us, and a dragon,” Dylan says slowly.

“But then there’s them,” Alistair gestures to the rest of the room.

“We’re just here to watch,” Matt says plainly, “We won’t be getting involved.”

“Is that Erin?” Dylan asks, pointing at Rhiona.

“Aye,” Alistair answers, “You remember those shitting two-player-things Yong-Soo was on about?”

“Second players,” Matt corrects.

“I wasn’t paying fucking attention. But I think that this lot,” he gestures about the room, “Are those tossers now.”

“Don’t call your siblings tossers,” Nikolai, the one not waving one hand in the air like he’s petting a large, invisible animal, scolds.

“Yeah, Alistair,” Dylan adds.

“Don’t agree with the bastard, attack the bastard!” Alistair snaps.

“Oh, right,” Dylan pulls a club out of his bag, jumps at Nikolai and smacks the Russian smartly over the head with it. Green fire erupts above the head of the other Nikolai, curling down him unnaturally, engulfing the tall man in lime light and heat, and Gilbert gets the feeling that the fire wasn’t produced by Nikolai himself.

The clubbed Nikolai stumbles back. Dylan looks over his shoulder at Alistair, beaming with pride. Nikolai’s scarf reaches up, snatching Dylan by the back of the head and twisting sharply, snapping Dylan’s neck quickly and painlessly.

Dylan slumps to the floor. The flames die abruptly to reveal Nikolai unharmed under a bubble of magic. A few seconds of silence, then a long, guttural howl.

“You killed him,” Alistair say dumbly. He stands, slack-jawed, axe held loosely in his hand, all the aggression in his body having dropped to the floor with Dylan.

“No shit,” Nikolai, the one stood over Dylan, spits.

“But you can…” Alistair speaks slowly, softer than Gilbert remembers him ever speaking, “Bring him back, that’s what you were doing anyway, bringing people back.”

“I suppose I can. I don’t really want to, though.”

Another howl. Gilbert just gives up trying to figure out where the noise is coming from. Matt sips his coffee. Typical day in the office for that lumberjack. Seamus sits on the arm of the couch, half-leaning on Rhiona.

“Don’t cry, Cymru,” Nikolai soothes, stroking at air in front of him. “Rhiona, in the inside pocket of my coat you will find coal. Pull a couple of pieces out.”

Rhiona scrabbles at the lining for the pocket, and pulls out two pieces. At Gilbert’s frown Matt explains; “Magic pocket.”

Nikolai holds up the coal and one vanishes with a crunch, then several seconds later the other vanishes.

“Stop feeding him!” Alistair barks, “Stop being nice!”

“I am nice,” Nikolai retorts, “Just not to people who try to hurt me. Cymru can’t help it; she’s a dragon.”

Alistair growls. He picks Dylan up, sitting him up in the corner, reorganising his clothes and head until he looks simply asleep. He sits down next to him, idly rubbing the Celtic paint from his face with his sleeve.

Nikolai lets his hand drop, staring at something in front of him. His scarf wriggles around his neck, pressing itself down into his shoulders until Nikolai chuckles and takes the scarf off, dumping the lifeless wool over Matt’s shoulders.

“At least we can tell you apart now,” Gilbert comments. “One of you has a scarf, the other doesn’t.”

Both Nikolais frown, then groan in realisation. Scarfless Nikolai rubs at something on his shoulder, mumbling, and a crimson lizard-creature appears, nuzzling happily into his jaw.

“What the _fuck_ is that?!” Gilbert shrieks.

The creature hisses, and Nikolai rubs its head until it settles down, “Her name is Cymru, and she is Dylan’s pet dragon.”

“You mean it’s _real_. Like all the fairies- are they _real_? What the _fuck_?!”

“Aye,” Alistair says plainly, “We always told you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Okay, so one of you has a scarf and one of you has a _dragon._ ”

Dragon-Nikolai grins.

“You can see the dragon?” Alistair asks, “But how?”

“Magic,” Nikolai answers plainly.

“Oh. Never thought of that.”

“Clearly,” Dragon-Nikolai sits down in his (their? if there’s two of them?? I’m not sure???) armchair and slouches, idly toying with Cymru’s head, the dragon purring like a scaly, fire-breathing cat.

Sophie appears in the doorway, dressed in what looks like one Liz’s dresses. It’s too large for her, hanging from her frame, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Are you done battling dragons now?”

“Yes,” No-dragon-Nikolai answers, giving Sophie an affectionate rub on the head as she skips past, over to Dylan and Alistair.

She plops herself merrily in Alistair’s kilted lap, staring at him expectantly. Alistair freezes as she sits, sleeve clutched in his hand still pressed into his cheek.

“What do you want, kid?” he asks shortly.

“Tell me a story,” Sophie says, “Please.”

“A story?”

“Yeah. Scottie tells them all the time. Well, not all the time, just when he can.”

“I thought he was mute?” Gilbert asks with a frown.

“He occasionally manages to heal enough to talk,” Seamus explains, “Will takes him to the Residency to the kid’s dorm and he tells them stories and poems and stuff.”

“Heal?” Alistair asks shortly.

“It doesn’t matter!” Sophie interrupts before anyone can answer the Scot, “Tell me a story! The one about the searching for the fisherman’s sons after a storm, please!”

“'The Dileas'?”

“Yeah, that one! Please.”

Alistair lets his hand drop, shifting Sophie into a more comfortable position on his thigh, before he clears his throat and begins, “Three hours gone, Mr MacLean, three hours gone…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cmyru is Welsh for Wales. Creative, I know.
> 
> The story referenced at the end is 'The Dileas' by Scottish writer Alistair MacLean. If you google 'The Lonely Sea', go to the result that leads you to Amazon and click "Look Inside!" you can read 'The Dileas' for free. I recommend it.  
> 'The Dileas' is about (as Sophie said) a fisherman whose boys are at sea during a storm. He goes to search for them to find their shipwrecked boat re-built into a raft with two children tied to it with a tie the boys were good at. The writer then recalls seeing two shapes at sea earlier, and realises that the boys had formed the raft, tied the children to it and sacrificed themselves to the waves in order to save the children.  
> Basically, it's about sacrifice and family love. Is that important to this story? Maybe.


	40. The memories we keep

Scarfed-Nikolai drinks the coffee brought by Seamus. He picks Svetla up, carrying her upstairs and laying her by her son.

He heads calmly down the stairs again and into the living room. “May I take my coat back?”

Rhiona obediently stands up, giving the coat to Nikolai.

“Thank you. Matt you are in charge-”

“No, I’m in charge,” the other Nikolai interrupts.

“You are right. This may need further organisation. I am in charge while I am gone. Gilbert, I do not exist, do you understand?”

“No,” Gilbert answers honestly, “No I do not.”

“My sisters are not to know I have cloned myself,” Nikolai reiterates.

“Oh. Why?”

“Because I said so. I am going back to Russia for a short while, mostly to get clothes. The only ones with the ability to produce clothes are Liz, Flavio and Susan, and I don’t trust any of them to pick my clothes for me.”

“Flavio and Susan?”

“Romano and Sweden,” Matt answers.

“Oh, your Sweden’s a girl?”

“No, Susan’s a man,” Matt says, completely serious.

“A man called Susan?”

“Is there an issue?” Nikolai asks, barely veiling his threat as he picks up the katana.

“No, it’s just a bit odd.”

“Su-san,” Matt explains, “Kuro kept forgetting his and the others’ name, so called him Su-san, and it kind of stuck, then became just Susan.”

“Our Kiku always forgets the Nordics’ names, too,” Gilbert says.

Nikolai hums, and leaves.

* * *

 

He is gone for two days.

Milan and Svetla vanish overnight, their counterparts calling a few hours after their disappearance to report having conquered and turned most of south-east Europe, leaving Gilbert with a long list of country names and times across the pages of his journal. A phone call from Romania tells a similar story of Lorenzo turning Vladimir, and the Italian is home barely ninety minutes later, much to the joy of both Lutz and Liz. Dylan wakes up unchanged, aside from his stiff limbs from being propped up strangely, and understands the complete surrender of the United Kingdom without having to ask.

Alistair tells Sophie multiple stories, the Italian girl insisting on sitting in his lap. Seamus and François manage to keep Oliver away from Alistair, leaving the Scot unharmed and able to tell stories. Katyusha takes on a cooking role, helping Oliver with some of his baking while cooking savoury food, Yao helping to keep an eye on the large amounts of food, the Baltic trio distributing it throughout the house.

Rhiona and Lutz manage to get most of the blood out of the carpets. The bedding is a little more difficult, most of the whites having to just be thrown away. Lorenzo, when he isn’t up in the bedroom with Liz, often takes shopping trips for food, cleaning equipment and bedding. And alcohol.

Lily, Vash and Kuro regularly do drills in the garden. Lutz joins when he isn’t cleaning, and after Al heals he’s allowed to join in if he doesn’t misbehave. He then misbehaves, and Oliver gets more ‘ingredients’ for his baking.

Cymru, Gilbird and Kurojiro find multiple spots for napping in, mostly on windowsills, under heaters and at the top of the stairs, tripping multiple people down them. Dylan takes on the responsibility of looking after the trio, Kurojiro and Gilbird befriending the Welshman quickly.

Antonio, Lovino and Natalya mostly stay in the basement, avoiding the ‘second players’ like the plague.

Nikolai, the one who stayed, regularly helps the others in their duties and chores. Matt stays with Gilbert, Gilbert idly filling up his journal with random writing and drawings, pointless accounts of little happenings like Lutz tripping over Kurojiro and falling down the stairs, and how many cupcakes Oliver baked, and heartfelt lines of Alistair’s stories. Matt has taken one of Gilbert’s journals from the Teutonic era and put the sleeve of a random novel over it to hide it from Nikolai. He giggles at the stories regularly, often consulting Gilbert to double-check his translations and then laughing harder. Nikolai doesn’t seem to have caught on yet.

* * *

 

When the other Nikolai returns, he first seeks out Katyusha, who is sitting in one of the freshly-cleaned bedrooms, reading a book.

“Katyusha?” he calls as he knocks on the door.

Katyusha puts her bookmark into the book, looking up at him.

“I’ve got you something,” Nikolai holds up one of the several suitcases he brought back from Russia, “I thought you might like to change your clothes.”

Katyusha is not even in her own clothes anymore, but a pair of Ludwig’s trousers and a hoodie of Gilbert’s that stretched in the wash. Nikolai has also changed into one of Ivan’s uniforms that feels strangely big on him.

In the suitcase is a large selection of clothes folded small, some Ukrainian and Russian books, a plush brown bear and a scrapbook of pressed flowers and small paintings Katyusha made decades ago. As happy as most would assume Katyusha would be for her own clothes and the small, thoughtful extras, her face falls. This suitcase is full of things she left in Russia after the collapse of the Union, each one tightly tied to a memory. Mostly memories of Ivan, and suddenly Katyusha feels like a monster for replacing Ivan so easily.

“As lovely as this is,” Katyusha says softly, cautiously, “I haven’t worn anything like this since some… very painful happenings.”

Nikolai’s face flickers with anger, then settles into a sad understanding, “That happened to us, also. It was very painful, having to watch my family leave, but it no good to dwell on it. It is better to think of the happier times that happened.” He picks out a dress, pale blue and comfortable, and chooses his words carefully as he unrolls it and runs the soft fabric through his fingers, “Yekaterina had a dress like this. She loved to twirl around it, and she would look so pretty. I remember a street party in Moscow where there were men lining up to dance with her when she was wearing this dress. Natalya had a similar one, but she wasn’t fond of it.”

With a soft smile, Katyusha takes the dress. She remembers the dress, the street party in Moscow, dancing with many men, but she doesn’t remember them lining up. But she hadn’t been paying much attention, enjoying herself too much to be keeping track of where strangers where.

With a gentle push to his arm, Nikolai leaves to let Katyusha change into her own dress.

 

 


	41. The memories we make

One of the Nikolais is sitting in the Journal Room when Gilbert heads down, journal tucked under his arm. The Russian sits against one of the empty bookcases, a bookcase Gilbert would rather he didn’t lean against, with a stack of books next to him and another in his hands. A small ball of light hovers at his shoulder, illuminating the page. He has taken his scarf back from Matt, and it is folded on the floor next to him. In the light of the magic ball and Gilbert’s torch, the scarring is easy to see; angry veins red encircling his neck and appearing to branch down under his clothes, pinkish circles like healing blisters, and a line paler than his skin stretching from the left of his throat down under his collar.

“What are you doing here?” Gilbert asks.

“Hiding from my sisters,” Nikolai answers plainly, not looking up from his book, “They can’t know I cloned myself.”

“Why not?” Gilbert asks.

“Because Natalya knows that that is more magic than I should be capable of. And Oliver is not to know I am that capable.”

“Can I ask why?”

“It is basically because I have been given Oliver’s magic to stop him from being able to use it.”

“By who?”

“Oliver’s brother. We call him Scottie. Why are you asking me questions?”

“I don’t like people being in my Journal Room. It’s mine.”

“Tough shit. What are you doing down here anyway?”

“Filled up my journal, I have a spare one, but if you guys are here much longer I may need to go buy some new ones.”

“Tell me if you do. I’ll send somebody with you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“You don’t trust me either. Don’t sound so offended.”

Gilbert doesn’t grace him with a response to that. He replaces his journal and takes the empty one, quickly jotting down the date on the first page before he heads back up the stairs. He’s tempted to close the door at the bottom of the stairs and bolt it, locking Nikolai in, but leaves it, hoping Nikolai doesn’t accidently pull on any of the shelves of the bookcase when he stands up.

* * *

 

Upstairs, the other Nikolai sits in his armchair, gently dusting an old, familiar violin, the bow and resin resting on the coffee table. Katyusha, Natalya and the Baltic three are in clothes Gilbert hasn’t seen in a long while, the thick material still intact after two decades hanging untouched in their rooms in Ivan’s house, Ivan never moving them in the hope his family would return to him.

“That’s Ivan’s violin,” Gilbert says dumbly.

“Yes, it is,” Nikolai says, “I have one like it, but a little older.”

“You play the violin too?” Raivis asks, “Mister Russia - our Mister Russia- would play the violin all the time when we were at his house. And the balalaika too, and that sounded quite nice but it was very strange to look at because it was a triangle and that’s really weird, and-”

“Raivis, stop talking,” Nikolai says plainly, and the small Latvian freezes.

“Rude,” Gilbert says bluntly. Nikolai ignores him.

“Are you going to play something, Kolja?” Katyusha asks. She’s practically bouncing up and down with happiness. Natalya is more sullen, fingering the soft fabric of her skirt uncomfortably.

“I will do,” Nikolai answers with a smile.

Torys seizes the opportunity; “Miss Belarus, would you like to dance with me?”

“No,” Natalya answers plainly, “I don’t want to dance at all.”

Torys looks a little crestfallen, but accepts it. Lorenzo and Al, however, are grinning like a pair of sleazy douchebags as they eye up Katyusha, and Gilbert doesn’t like it. He puts the journal down on the coffee table and taps Katyusha on the shoulder.

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me,” he asks solemnly.

“I would love to!” Katyusha answers.

“I’m not starting yet!” Nikolai chuckles, tightening one of the strings.

“Give me two minutes, and I shall be more appropriately dressed,” Gilbert gestures to his clothes; skinny jeans and an ‘ironic’ meme shirt. He turns quickly, heading down to the basement.

He re-emerges in a smarter pair of trousers and a button-down shirt. Nikolai gives him a nod, setting the violin under his chin. Gilbert folds one hand under Katyusha’s and puts the other respectfully on her waist, Katyusha’s free hand going to his shoulder.

Lorenzo has dragged Lutz into being his partner, Lutz having accepted being the ‘woman’ of the pair despite being taller than Lorenzo. Al has grabbed Rhiona, who is digging her nails into Al’s wrist to silently remind him to keep his hand on her waist. Raivis and Eduard are together, each with the other’s hand on his waist. Oliver is with François, and Antonio has dragged Lovino into the dance. Seamus and Dylan are facing each other to dance, not holding each other properly but rather having some strange slapping/poking fight, giggling. Alistair and Sophie are holding hands to dance, Sophie jumping up and down in excitement and Alistair grinning down at her. Yao is in the corner with Cymru, Kurojiro and Gilbird snuggled into him, asleep, Yao smiling contently. Kuro, Vash, Torys, Lily and Natalya sit along the love seat, which has been shoved against the wall with the rest of the furniture to make room for the ridiculous amount of people all in one room.

Nikolai, still in his armchair, tucks the violin under his chin and rises the resined bow.

He beings to play, the notes deep and resonating about the room. He hums along, violin stopping his jaw moving to sing, but most of Ivan’s family recognise it as a song Ivan was very fond of. Katyusha sings along; “ _The snow, the wind, the nightfly of stars, my heart calling me to an uneasy distance_.”

Lily taps Natalya on the shoulder, making the Belarusian jump. “Would you like to dance?”

“I don’t want to dance,” Natalya gives Lily the same answer she had given Torys.

“You don’t want to be wearing that dress either,” Lily retorts, “It’s making you uncomfortable.”

“I just haven’t worn dresses like this in a while. Give me a short while, and I’ll be perfectly used to it again.”

“Will you dance with me then?”

“I don’t want to dance with you!” Natalya whisper-snaps.

“Why not?”

“I’m not a lesbian.”

“I asked you to dance, not fuck.” Lily stands up, hand outstretched to Natalya, “Come on; it’ll take your mind off the dress. I’ll let you lead.”

Natalya takes the hand hesitantly. True to her word, Lily rests her hand on Natalya’s shoulder, letting Natalya take her nervously by the elbow and lead her into a slightly awkward four-time dance as the music builds into a crescendo, most of the room singing in varying articulations of Russian; “ _And as all others before you, you will find your love sometime, she will travel through the storm with you, bravely as you._ ”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert doesn't want Nikolai leaning on that bookshelf because it's a secret door. That will be relevant later.  
> Also, there is a door to the Journal Room that is lockable from the outside, but not the inside. I forgot to mention that in the earlier description. But that will also be relevant later.  
> The song used is a Russian folk song "A song about uneasy youth" or "The song of the restless youth". From what I understand it's a song about pledging allegiance to the motherland and the motherland ('she') pledging allegiance to them. It fits Nikolai's allegiance with the others quite well.


	42. The memories we return to

Gilbert sits on the arm of the love seat, whittling a tune on his flute, some German lullaby that is making Lutz cry. Nikolai dances with Katyusha, letting her twirl under his arm and leap around, keeping himself firmly between her and Al, Lorenzo having given up on his prowling a while ago and is trying to get Lutz to stop crying.

Gilbert ends the song, putting the flute down to a round of applause and giving a bow.

Matt emerges from the basement with an acoustic guitar Gilbert sent him to fetch, “Found it!”

“Awesome!” Gilbert retorts.

“Matt! Play something!” Lorenzo yells from Lutz’s shoulder, “And make it happy! I can’t get this stupid fucking German to stop crying!”

Matt sighs. Gilbert moves out of his way to let him sit down, guitar laid over his lap. He plays a quick jolly tune and sings, switching smoothly between English and French; “Behind the manor lies the mare, my ball rolls on, three ducks bathe in the water clear, my ball rolls on.”

Katyusha takes a deep breath, cheeks flushed from dancing. Nikolai takes her arm to guide her to the kitchen.

She fills up a mug with water, sipping it. Nikolai helps himself to one of Oliver’s cupcakes, iced in red with little yellow fondant flowers.

“I found something when I was in Russia,” he says innocently, wandering into the hall and back again with cossack sword, the curved blade still in its leather sheath, decorated with painted flowers and birds, a blue and yellow sash fastened to it.

“Where did you get that?” Katyusha asks, eyes wide in shock.

“Ivan’s house,” Nikolai answers, “It’s got a very pretty sheath, so I got the feeling it was yours, not Ivan’s or Natalya’s. Not that I don’t think they would appreciate pretty things, but you are much more fond of flowers than either of them seem to be.”

“Yes, it is mine,” Katyusha says quickly, “I left it in Russia because I didn’t want to see it again.”

“Why? Surely you painted the sheath specifically to look at it?”

“Yes. But… I killed a lot of soldiers with it.”

“You did?!” Nikolai sounds impressed, “I never thought you would really be a fighter, star-sestra!”

“A lot of Russian soldiers,” Katyusha adds.

Soviet Russia jokes skipped over, Nikolai doesn’t seem phased, “No matter, it is still impressive.”

“It is horrible!” Katyusha retorts, tears welling in her eyes.

Nikolai puts the sword down on the counter and pulls Katyusha into a tight hug, “I know it is. But if you hadn’t killed them, they would have ‘killed’ you, and you would have to lie there, trampled with other dead soldiers.”

Katyusha sobs into Nikolai’s shoulder.

“It was self-defence, Kat,” Nikolai soothes, patting her hair.

From the next room, Matt can faintly be heard singing “Till gathered by fair maiden’s hands, my ball rolls on, and form at last a soldier’s bed, my ball rolls on.”

As Matt finishes the Canadian folk song and begins to play a country song instead, Al hollering the lyrics so loudly and over-the-top passionately they can barely be understood, Katyusha pulls out of the hug, staring sadly at the cossack sword.

“Why did you feel the need to show me this?” she asks quietly.

“I thought you should wear it again,” Nikolai answers.

“Why would I want to wear it again?!”

“For safety. So I don’t have to leave someone looking after you all the time.”

“I don’t think I could hurt anyone with it.”

“You might not have to,” Nikolai encourages, “The threat of it should be enough to deter anyone sensible. And if it’s Al, a warning slash to the shoulder and he’ll get the message.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to attack me, anyway.”

“I hope not,” Nikolai says, giving the smaller woman a kiss on the forehead, “But just so you are safe if you are attacked; please.”

Katyusha hesitantly takes the sword and places it against her left hip and pulls one end of the sash, wrapping it around her front. Nikolai goes to her other side and takes both ends of the sahs, gently knotting the ends firmly over her right hip, then into a bow over it.

Gilbert wanders into the kitchen, putting his flute down on the counter and grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge. He scans the siblings, gaze pausing on the cossack sword for a few seconds, but he doesn’t ask about it.

“Gilbert, how would you like a piece of land to represent again?” Nikolai asks.

Gilbert’s eyes widen in surprise. “Are you serious? That’s something you can do?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t.”

“So I’ll… have land again? Where?”

“Well, Russia would be the easiest to organise, unless that area is problematic for you.”

“No, no, I’m not going to argue, land again?”

Nikolai laughs good-naturedly, “Yes, land again. Called…?”

“I can name it?”

“Of course; it’s your land.”

“ _Preußen Königreich!_ ”

Katyusha laughs and claps her hands. Excited, Gilbert sweeps her up and whirls around the kitchen, Katyusha giggling happily as Gilbert hollers.

Violin music sounds from the living room. Katyusha, as Gilbert puts her down, drags Gilbert by the wrist into the living room to dance. Nikolai follows, finding that it is Natalya playing Journey to the Past from the film Anastasia on the violin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tune Gilbert is playing on his flute is a German lullaby called Wiegenlied (Cradle song). There are two versions of this; the happy version by Bernhard Flies, and a sad version about a dead baby by Franz Schubert. Gilbert is playing the Flies happy version. The Schubert sad version was played at the 'other' Gilbert's funeral. Nikolai and Roderick (Austria) played it as a violin duet.  
> Matt is playing En roulant ma boule (My ball rolls on) which is a Canadian folk song. He sings the version by William McLennan which use English and the original French  
> Preußen Königreich means Kingdom of Prussia


	43. Feliks; 'Lucky'

Natalya fumbles over her notes as someone knocks loudly on the front door. “Liet! Liet, I know you’re here, why haven’t you been answering my calls, I thought we were besties, Liet!”

“How and why is he here?” Nikolai snaps.

“I don’t know,” Torys answers meekly, “I’ll deal with it.”

Torys pads out into the hallway and opens the door. Feliks hollers a greeting and lets himself in, chattering away in a mix of Polish, Lithuanian and English. He freezes as he struts into the living room; “Ruski? Oh fuck no, Liet what going on?”

“Can’t I just kill him?” Nikolai whines.

“Nope,” Matt answers plainly, and Gilbert once again wonders who’s really in charge.

“But he’s so annoying.”

“So are you when you wanna be.”

“Why is everyone even here?” Feliks asks, scanning the large amount of people. Seriously, there are twenty four people all in one living room. Ludwig has a damn big house. German Tardis all up in this bullshit. Zeit Und Relativ Dimensions Ins Lücke. Zurdil. I am laughing so hard at that word.

“I am taking over the world,” Nikolai says plainly.

“Again? The Union fell because you were too big.” Phrasing, Feliks.

“Now I am bigger and doing absolutely fine.” Again, phrasing.

“Whatever. Now explain to me why you’re wearing that.”

“What? It’s a uniform.

“It doesn’t fit you properly.”

“It hasn’t fallen down, it hasn’t split; it’s fine.”

Feliks sighs. “You are hopeless! Kat! Sweetie, that dress is so cute!”

“Has he seriously moved past the takeover already?” Alistair asks dumbly.

“You sort of get used to being owned after a while,” Raivis says.

“Aye,” Alistair agrees, “But you don’t get over a guy taking over the world that quickly.”

“Feliks does,” Torys says a little flippantly.

“Does that mean… he’s our ally?” Nikolai asks.

“I think so? Uh… Po? Are you, like, our ally now?”

“Who’s ‘our’?” Feliks retorts.

“Well… Nikolai, mostly.”

“Who?”

Torys points dumbly to Nikolai.

“I thought his name was Ivan?”

“I am what you call Ivan’s ‘second player’,” Nikolai explains.

“Oh my god, you guys are real?!”

“Clearly.”

Lutz clears his throat, “Opaque-ly.”

“What the fuck was that even supposed to mean?!” Lorenzo demands, and Matt just slaps Lutz across the back of the head.

“I thought Korea-dude was just delusional.”

“Obviously not.”

“You’re really real?”

“Clearly. Lutz, be quiet.”

Feliks stares at Nikolai. “I thought you looked different.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot recently.”

“It’s because you look different.”

Torys facepalms.

“You didn’t answer the original question,” Nikolai reminds him.

“What was that again?” Feliks asks.

“Are you our ally?”

“Well, if you’re Ivan’s opposite, that means you’re probably nice, so sure!”

“That’s not how it works, Po,” Torys says gently.

“It’s not? Oh, well. Yolo.”

“Nobody says yolo, Po.”

 

 


	44. Sadiq; 'Friend'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luka (Norway) is referred to with the singular 'they' pronoun instead of he or she. It is grammatically correct. The gender neutral word for aunt/uncle 'ommer' is also used

Feliks settles himself on the loveseat between Katyusha and Lorenzo with Sophie on Katyusha’s other side, the trio cooing and giggling as Lutz and Alistair list the loveseat, with the three on it, to put it back in it’s original place. Matt and Gilbert move Nikolai’s armchair, Lily and Natalya move the other armchair, Eduard and Yao move the coffee table. The nations scatter themselves about the house as they see fit.

“Where to?” Nikolai asks Matt as he puts the armchair down.

“Greece and Turkey,” Matt answers.

“At the same time?” Gilbert pulls a face of doubt, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Herkales will be asleep,” Matt answers plainly.

“Of course he will.”

Nikolai sits himself in his armchair. “Al! Kuro!” he barks.

Some clattering, and Al appears at the door, Kuro following a few seconds later, already with a bleeding gash on his forehead.

“Al, go to Greece,” Nikolai orders, “Fetch Herkales. Try not to wake him up. If he does wake up, convince him to follow you with cats.”

“Yes, boss,” Al says, surprisingly calm, leaving.

“Kuro, do you have Kiku’s phone?”

“Yes,” Kuro pulls the phone from his pocket.

“Why does he have that?” Gilbert hisses to Matt.

“It was part of the plan.”

“How did you even know Kiku would own a phone?”

“We just did. You need to accept that we just know stuff, okay?”

“Call Sadiq,” Nikolai orders.

Kuro scrolls through Kiku’s phone, finding Sadiq listed under just ‘Sadiq’ and calling, speaking softly when Sadiq answers; “Adnan-san?”

“Kiku? I keep telling you; it’s Sadiq. Haven’t heard from you in a while, how’ve you been?”

“I have been well, thank you. Vargas-san was wondering if you would like to join us and Beilschmidt-san for dinner?”

“Lemme guess; pasta?”

Kuro stifles a laugh. “Most likely.”

“Sure, I’ll be over soon. Tell that damned Italian to keep his archery kit locked up, though, y’hear me?”

“Of course Adnan- ah, Sadiq.” Kuro hangs up as Sadiq chuckles at ‘Kiku’s adorableness, “He’s on his way.”

 

* * *

 

Al arrives carrying the sleeping Greek before Sadiq arrives. He lays Herkales on the floor, just inside the doorway. Cymru, Kurojiro and Gilbird sniff at him, before Cymru and Kurojiro cuddle up to him to take a nap, Gilbird deciding he doesn’t like the smell of cat clinging to the man and flapping back to his owner. Herkales keeps twitching and mumbling in his sleep, barely audible.

“Anyone know what he’s saying?” Al asks.

Lutz shrugs. “It’s all Greek to me.”

Lorenzo growls and stamps out the room and up the stairs to the bedroom Liz is still in. Matt throws an empty pen at Lutz’s face.

Sadiq knocks politely on the front door. Nikolai answers, and Sadiq frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking over the world,” Nikolai answers plainly.

“You’re _what_ now? What the fuck have you done to Kiku?”

“ _I_ did nothing to Kiku. That was America.”

“That _penis_. I’ll kill him.”

“Knock yourself out,” Nikolai encourages, stepping aside to let Sadiq in, “He’s in the house somewhere.”

Sadiq storms into the first room; the living room. He almost falls over Herkales, instead ‘accidentally’ kicking the Greek in the side. Herkales grunts and rolls over, Cymru and Kumajiro scattering.

“The fuck’s he doing here?” Sadiq demands.

“I’ve taken him over as well,” Nikolai answers, “Or I will when he wakes up.”

“And… what? Is this a trick? Are you going to take me over as well?”

“That is the plan, yes.”

“I’m not being taken over!” Sadiq snaps, “I’m the powerful Ottoman Empire, you can’t touch me!”

“I have the Prussian Empire,” Nikolai gestures to Gilbert, “And the Holy Roman Empire,” he gestures to Lutz.

“Wass?!” Lutz squawks.

“So don’t be getting full of yourself,” Nikolai finishes.

Sadiq glowers at him, then sighs. “Yeah, and I’ve got no weapons. I was expecting food, not a fight y’see, and I don’t like to bring weapons to meals. It’s rude.”

“It is a little bit,” Nikolai agrees.

“Who’ve you taken over?” Sadiq asks quietly, “The Baltic States? Belarus?”

“Yes.”

“Katyusha?”

Nikolai pauses. “Yes. Why did Katyusha get her human name?”

“Uh…” Sadiq grunts a few random noises. “Well, she’s my neighbour, so we visit each other every now and then… I suppose you could say we’re… kinda… friends…”

“Define ‘kinda’,” Nikolai growls.

“For fuck’s sake; they’re dating!” Matt snaps.

“Well… yeah, what the Canadian said,” Sadiq admits.

“I can’t allow that,” Nikolai spits, and Matt sighs in exasperation.

“Why not? It’s Katyusha’s decision, not yours.” Whoo, feminism!

Nikolai growls. “Fine. But no fighting with Herkales. I don’t want you getting wound up and worrying her- or worse. And-”

“Make an alliance?” Sadiq interrupts, “I suppose I can’t _not_ make an alliance with you now, can I?”

“Dinner’s ready!” Katyusha chirps, skipping through from the kitchen with a tray, “Oliver, Seamus and Kuro helped me make some sort of stew, it smells lovely!”

“It looks lovely too,” Matt says kindly, taking one of the bowls.

“Speaking of looking lovely…” Sadiq says with a grin.

“Sadiq!” Katyusha gushes, putting the tray down on the coffee table to embrace Sadiq into a tight hug, “How long have you been here?”

“Not long. Just been talking to your brother.”

“We know you’re fucking!” Al yells at the pair. Matt puts his stew down, kicks Al firmly in the crotch, and returns to eating his stew.

Katyusha is unsurprisingly shocked. “How?”

“The Canadian knew,” Sadiq answers.

“How?”

“Your second players are dating.”

“Wait- second players?!” Sadiq cries.

Matt groans in exasperation. “You have no idea how many times we’ve heard that.”

* * *

 

The General hovers behind Matt as the Canuck reads through another of Gilbert’s disguised journals. Sadiq has followed Katyusha to hand out food, and is now in the kitchen with her helping her to wash up. Torys has returned to the basement with Feliks in tow.

The General chuckles deeply at an entry regarding Teutonic and Rus. “I remember Ivan doing that.”

Nikolai scowls at the man. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Like what?”

“You _could_ go North and collect the Nordics.”

“I _could_. Or I could _not_ do that.”

Nikolai growls, and the General laughs again. Gilbert and Matt suppress their own laughter, and the General vanishes into nowhere.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in Sweden, the representatives of the Nordics lay over each other on a large sofa, three in the seats with Icelandic Emil on one of the arms, Danish Søren laid over the seated trio with a large tub of ice cream in his lap and his head in the lap of Norwegian Luka. Finnish Tino, in the middle of the seated trio, has eaten most of the ice cream and fallen asleep on the shoulder of Swedish Berwald. Peter and Erland, Sealand and Ladonia respectively, are asleep in their beds, and their dads and ommers are watching a European action film.

The General appears in front of the television, blocking their view of the screen.

“Dude!” Søren yells, waking Tino up abruptly, “We’re watching that!”

The General flicks a hand behind him, and the television freezes into a block of ice. The Nordic five jump up, Søren, Tino and Berwald racing to the back of the house to grab weaponry, Luka situating themself firmly between Emil and the General. Hanatamago and Mr Puffin attack, growling and squawking respectively until the General kicks them away.

With a flick of the General’s wrist, Emil is trapped in ice, old magic putting Emil to sleep before he’d even felt the cold, expression of concern and fear still hanging his jaw open. Luka yells out a Norwegian spell, aiming for the General, but the older wizard bats the spell away with a single-word counter-spell.

Berwald comes hollering through first with a large sword, the General freezing him as he runs, sword raised like a lance, lips curled back and eyes wide in berserk anger, howl dying instantly.

Tino pauses in the doorway, alarmed. “Luka, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Luka answers, “I think he’s pissed.”

“No,” the General says, “Just bored.”

“Go harass Russia!” Tino snaps at him, stepping further into the room.

“Russia’s the one who suggested this.”

“What?” Søren pulls a face of confusion, “Why? I thought we were cool. I thought we were buddies.”

“Ask him, not me,” the General says plainly. He flicks his wrist again, and Tino is frozen, still frowning in puzzlement.

“Fuck!” Søren swings his axe above his head and begins to run at the General. Luka begins to yell magic again, but this time doesn’t direct it at the General, but at Søren.

In a flash of green light, Søren disappears, leaving just Luka. They is still staring at the spot Søren had been standing in when the General freezes him.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in Denmark, Søren falls onto his bed, his axe landing awkwardly on top of him. He jumps up, swinging his axe randomly, until he realises the General is gone and he is not in Sweden anymore.

In a hurry, Søren begins to get himself properly dressed, having been in only a shirt and boxers to watch the film. His cross necklace, a gift from Luka when they had first begun to practise magic, is warm as it buzzes with Norwegian magic.

 

 


	45. Søren; 'Severe'

When the General takes the captured Nordics back to Germany, he has thawed them, adjusted and dressed them, and re-frozen them inside ice coffins before moving them. The six lay side-by-side on the floor of the living room, the adults with their hands on their chests and eyes closed like corpses. They wear traditional warm clothing, Luka and Berwald dressed as Vikings, Tino and Emil dressed similar to how they had dressed when they were discovered by the Vikings. Luka and Berwald also have weapons, Berwald’s sword and Luka’s hammer laid out over their bodies, and Emil has Mr Puffin, similarly frozen, with him. Peter and Erland are still in their pyjamas, laid between Tino and Berwald, each with their stuffed toys, a blanket and a pillow. The boys don’t seem to be frozen, but still asleep inside the coffins, blissfully unaware of their situation.

Nikolai nods, thoroughly impressed. By this time, Herkales has woken up, been told he’s been invaded by the Russians, argued, accepted his fate, and gone back to sleep again.

“Uh, cool as this is,” Gilbert says, and Lutz snorts with laughter at his brother’s poor word choice, “Where’s Søren?”

“That’s a good question,” Nikolai agrees, frowning at the General.

“Luka teleported him away,” the General answers.

“And you couldn’t be bothered to go get him separately,” Nikolai finishes, and the General just smirks. “So now we have to fetch him ourselves. But where could he have been teleported to?”

“To Denmark?? Maybe???” Matt says in mockingly questioning manner, and Nikolai smacks him with his scarf.

“Or somewhere between Denmark and Russia, since I mentioned this is all your fault,” the General adds.

“Thank you, General,” Nikolai says shortly, walking out the room.

He closes the door to the living room behind him and calls; “Katyusha? Natalya?”

Katyusha appears first from the kitchen, then Natalya from somewhere upstairs.

“Would you like to come for a walk with me?” Nikolai asks kindly.

“I’d love to!” Katyusha answers.

Nikolai pulls two coats, both brought back from Russia, from the coat hanger, holding them out to his sisters. Katyusha pauses in shock, but takes the coat politely, pulling it around her shoulders. As Lily wanders idly down the stairs, Natalya hastily pulls her coat on and wraps her arms around one of Nikolai’s. Nikolai holds his other arm out for Katyusha to take, and leads them out of the house.

“Where are we going?” Natalya asks as they walk, heading north.

“Denmark,” Nikolai answers

“Why Denmark? If we’re heading on a family outing, shouldn’t we be headed to Russia or one of our home countries?”

“You’re not going to attack Mister Kohler, are you?” Katyusha asks worriedly.

“He’s a creep,” Natalya says shortly, “But it would be a bit shitty of you to use our time together to further your agenda.”

“If we come across him, I will speak to him,” Nikolai says patiently, “If we don’t, I won’t, and will simply go back later.”

As they pass Flensberg, making their first steps into Denmark, Søren comes marching up to the trio, anger in his eyes, a growl in his throat, battle axe in his hand. He strides straight up to Nikolai, snarling in his face. “Ladies, would you be so kind to step out of the way so I can hack your brother’s head off?”

“It’s nice to see you too,” Nikolai greets.

“What have you done?” Natalya asks Nikolai plainly.

“What makes you think I’ve done anything?”

“Nobody gets angry over nothing.”

“He is. But then, he is quite well-known for his childishness.”

Søren slaps Nikolai across the face. Katyusha steps back in shock.

“ _I’m_ childish?” Søren hisses, “Says the man _still_ trying to take over the world. Even Germany gave up after the second try, and he was only fifty; he’s a _child_ and he’s worked out that world domination is a terrible idea. You’ve failed multiple times already. Grow up.”

“But I’m taller than you,” Nikolai says innocently.

“Seriously, ladies, if you would step away from your brother so I can swing my axe at his head, I would be super grateful.”

“Let go of me,” Nikolai says gently, wiggling his arms out of his sisters’ grip.

“But what if he hurts you!” Katyusha cries.

“He’ll be fine,” Natalya says confidently, letting go of Nikolai’s arm and taking a few steps back.

“Then just head back to Germany,” Nikolai answers Katyusha, loud enough for Søren to hear him, “Matt will look after you.”

Katyusha begins to cry as Natalya pulls her away from Nikolai. Nikolai turns and faces Søren, arms held out in front of him as if inviting Søren for a hug.

Søren swings the axe up, and the blade lodges into the side of Nikolai’s head with a sickening crunch. Søren wrenches the axe out again, and Nikolai follows the weapons trajectory, falling onto the snow, bleeding heavily. Raising the axe above his head, Søren takes a deep breath, looks away from Katyusha and Natalya, and swings the axe down, cutting Nikolai’s head off in one heavy blow.

Katyusha screams aloud. Natalya can only stare.

Søren swings the axe over his shoulder. Blood is splattered across his face in two lines crossing beside his nose. He goes to speak, but stumbles over his words for several minutes before he gives up, walking off in a southern direction.

As Søren’s form retreats towards the southern horizon, Natalya carefully approaches her brother’s body. Despite being dead, blood is still pouring out of Nikolai’s severed neck, slightly black in colour and turning the ice it touches into steam. Katyusha is sobbing loudly.

Natalya reaches down, running her hand through her brother’s hair. He is still warm to the touch, but a throbbing warm, like a heavy heartbeat is still pulsating about his skull. And as she pulls her hand out of the tangled hair, the head melts into a coppery slush, then the body melts, and Katyusha screams again.

“What do we do?!” she sobs.

“We go back to Germany, like he said,” Natalya says calmly.

Katyusha continues to sob at Natalya interlocks their arms, leading her older sister after Søren, the Dane barely visible on the horizon.

 

 


	46. Berwald; 'King of Bears'

Lutz is sitting on the stairs with Alistair and Sophie, listening to Alistair’s story. Matt stands in the kitchen doorway, and puts two fingers in his mouth to whistle as Søren arrives, axe over his shoulder, blood on his face. Alistair halts his story, and he and Sophie stare at Søren.

“Hallo,” Lutz greets.

“Hej. Looking for the siblings. Seen them?”

“Ja.”

“Where?”

“Nein.”

“What?”

“Hello,” Nikolai greets, wandering out of the kitchen with a tray of coffees coffees, “Coffee?”

Søren stares at him. “I just killed you. I left your body on the Danish border, how the _fuck_ are you here?”

“You must be mistaken,” Nikolai answers plainly, “I’ve been here the past few hours, drinking coffee and listening to British folk tales. Definitely haven’t died recently.”

Søren swings the axe at Nikolai. Nikolai ducks, barely being able to keep the coffees steady, and the axe is buried in the banister to the stairs. Sophie screams, and Alistair scoops her up and runs upstairs.

“That was rude,” Nikolai scolds, “All I’ve done is offer you coffee.”

“Where have you put my siblings?” Søren snarls.

“Not there,” Nikolai says innocently, balancing the tray in one hand and pointing into the corner, “Not there,” he points to the corner, “Not there either,” he points to the ceiling, “And not-”

Søren smacks the tray out of Nikolai’s hands. The mugs smash, and the hot liquid spreads quickly. “Stop fucking about, or I’ll start hacking your limbs off, you cunt.”

“There was no need for that language,” Nikolai scolds.

Matt snorts. “You’ve said worse.”

“I didn’t ask for your whore opinion.”

“That wasn’t an opinion; that was a fact.”

The end of Nikolai’s scarf whips up, punching Matt in the arm.

“What the fuck was that?” Søren asks, staring at the scarf.

“What?” Nikolai asks innocently.

Søren stares at him, then swings his axe again. Nikolai dodges it, then punches Søren in the gut, doubling the Dane over and wrenching the axe from his grip.

“You need to stop that. I’m confiscating this,” Nikolai says plainly, shrinking the axe and throwing it Matt, who puts it in his bottomless pocket.

As you can imagine; Søren is confused as hell right now. He kills a man to find him alive several miles away, a scarf is moving by itself, and his axe has disappeared into somebody’s pocket. This is some trippy shit, and Søren’s stayed in Amsterdam for three weeks.

“You can’t just…” Søren splutters.

“I just did,” Nikolai says plainly. “Now, I would like to discuss an alliance with you.”

“No.”

“You’re going to regret that decision,” Nikolai promises.

“Not as much as I’m going to regret _your face_.”

Lutz snorts at the obscure humour. Nikolai sends a chunk of broken mug flying at the German’s face.

“What’s going - Søren!” Gilbert comes down the stairs, and starts hollering at the arrival of his friend; “Yo!”

“What are you doing here?” Søren asks dumbly.

“I live here.”

“What’s he,” Søren gestures to Nikolai, “Doing here?”

“Taking over the world.”

“Oh. Okay. Why?”

Gilbert shrugs. “I’m just the scribe here.”

“You’re with him?”

“Picking my battles. Figured I couldn’t win, and then he may or may not have given me land.”

“ _Gilbert_!”

“What?! What do you want me to do?!” Gilbert yells, “You don’t know what it’s like to not represent anything anymore! It’s _awful_. I didn’t know I was going to get land back when I made the deal, but it’s Russian land-”

“Gilbert, how _could_ you?! What about Ludwig?!”

“Already defeated. Do you really think Nikolai could use Germany as HQ if he didn’t have Ludwig?”

Søren’s shoulders slump.

Gilbert claps Søren on the shoulder in an attempt at Manly Comfort™. “Just give up while you’ve still got your dignity.”

Søren shakes his head miserably. “I’d have to hit a _real_ low to surrender. Especially to Ruski.”

“Matt, hand Gilbert a sword,” Nikolai orders plainly.

Matt steps forwards, pulling a sharp, heavy sword from his bottomless pocket, and passes the handle to Gilbert.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” Gilbert asks, not taking the sword.

“Kill Søren.” Nikolai answers.

“Woah, what?”

Søren backs away from Gilbert.

“I don’t want your skills getting rusty,” Nikolai says.

“I can’t use this,” Gilbert points at the sword, “I’m left-handed.”

“It’s a left handed sword,” Matt says.

“Why do you have a left-handed sword?”

“I’m ambidextrous.”

“Really?”

“Kinda. I was right handed, but started using my left hand for fighting and became ambidextrous. Took me eighty years to perfect it.”

“Oh, cool. But there’s still a problem.”

“What?” Nikolai growls.

“The Awesome Prussia does not kill his friends. That’s why the Awesome Prussia still has friends.”

“Ooh, _snap_ ,” Lutz earns himself another shard of a coffee mug to the face. Nikolai’s patience is wearing damn thin.

“Who kidnapped your siblings?” Nikolai asks Søren, not out of curiosity but more like a teacher trying to get a child to figure out an answer for themself.

“The General, under your orders,” Søren answers.

“Who said they were my orders?”

“The General did.”

“You trust the word of the man you kidnapped your siblings?”

Søren pauses. “That’s a point. So… they’re not even here?”

Gilbert stares at Nikolai. The Russian shakes his head, “No, they’re not here.”

“They’re at the General’s palace?”

“It would appear that way.”

“Huh.” Søren turns and walks out of the door, Gilbert and Matt frowning after him.

“He’s fucking delirious, isn’t he?” Alistair booms from the top of the stairs, Sophie still curled up in his arms.

 

 


	47. Luka; Bringer of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Luka and Loki [1p/2p Norway respectively] are referred to with singular they/them pronouns
> 
> Also, Yang [2p China] refers to nation by double-barreling their human and country names. So Nikolai becomes Nikolai-Russia, Matt becomes Matt-Canada, Gilbert would be Gilbert-Prussia
> 
> Micro-nations with child bodies are referred to as 'children'
> 
> Trigger warning for a pedophilia mention/suggestion

Yekaterina leans leisurely against the wall, smoking at her cigarette. Ludwig sits on the floor, massaging his shins with his hands, panting. With very little to do in the community, Ludwig has found himself training much more than he’s used to, often over-exerting himself for the sake of killing his boredom. And Taisto, Finland, seems to be able to do twice what Ludwig can without breaking a sweat.

Taisto hasn’t been here today. He and the rest of the Scandinavians, sans Denmark, have been called to the Starting House to cross over. Ludwig is grateful; Susan has a habit of appearing to watch Taisto running about, and Loki has been known to come looking for Matthias.

Alfred comes jogging/stumbling to a stop, and the American drops overdramatically to the floor. “I have never done so much exercise in all my life.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Yekaterina scoffs.

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t actually _do_ anything; you just stand there smoking.”

“I’m just enjoying watching good-looking men getting sweaty.”

“Huh. Well,” Alfred gives a smirk, and Ludwig rolls his eyes, “At least you’ve got good taste.”

“Only aesthetically. Your personality’s fucking awful.”

Alfred stares at her like she’s just slapped him across the face. “Rude.”

Yekaterina just hums in response, and takes a drag of her cigarette.

“Miss Ukraine,” Ludwig asks politely, and a small smile creeps across Yekaterina’s lips, “You wouldn’t happen to know what your brother would be doing in our,” he gestures between himself and Alfred, “Universe, would you?”

“Bossing people around, swapping them with their counterparts, and just being a horrid little shit in general,” Yekaterina answers nonchalantly.

“You’re not fond of your brother, are you?” Alfred asks.

“No.”

Silence.

“Your brother seems to have some organisation,” Alfred says, sitting up to hug his knees, “If he and Yong-Su both know what order the crossovers are in and Young-Su can have the right people in the Starting House at the right time.”

“Yeah. We know a lot about your universe.”

“”You do?” Ludwig frowns, “Your Russia didn’t seem to know anything about our universe.”

Yekaterina scoffs. “He _did_ know. He was pretending to be as confused you, probably so you’d trust him.”

“Sounds like he’s a decent actor,” Alfred comments.

“He’s just manipulative,” Yekaterina spits.

“Well, he failed,” Ludwig says, “He was far too terrifying to trust or get along with. He was talking about things like death and cannibalism like they were the most normal things in the world.”

“To him, they are.” Yekaterina throws her stub at the floor and crushes it under the toe of her shoe. She scans Alfred and Ludwig boredly before she turns and stalks off back to the Residency.

* * *

Matthias doesn’t stir as the crossed-over Nordics gawk at him. He is frighteningly thin, his skin seeming to cling to his every bone, his cheeks sallow, his hands delicate. His hair is dull and flat, his eyes are tired and sunken, his lips are pale and uncreased like he hasn’t smiled in decades. He is folded into a seat, nothing more than a footstool with a cushion thrown on top of it, in the corner of the room, a book open in his lap, the pages dog-eared and torn and somehow more delicate than the man gently them. If something so dead-looking could even be referred to as a ‘man’ anymore.

Yang clears his throat awkwardly. Matthias’ head snaps up, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. He stares at each newcomer individually for several seconds, expression softening slowly into a sad recognition.

“Matthias; this is Luka-Norway,” Yang introduces with a wave of his arm, “Emil-Iceland, Berwald-Sweden, Peter-Sealand, Erland-Ladonia, and Tino-Finland. Everyone; this is Matthias-Denmark.”

“So… he’s Uncle Søren?” Peter asks, looking the man up and down.

“No, this is an… ‘alternate’ version of your Uncle,” Yang says carefully, “He usually works in the library with Örlander-Ladonia and Fenyang-Egypt. Chuckie-Sealand and Taisto-Finland work in the military-”

“But surely Chuckie’s a child!” Tino interrupts.

“Yes. He’s part of the patrol group, mostly because he has a very loud voice for shouting about danger.”

“Dickhead say’s I’ve got a loud voice, too,” Peter says proudly.

“Would you stop calling Arthur that?” Tino sighs, and Berwald gives Peter a Stern Fatherly Glare™.

“It suits him,” Peter grumbles.

“Emilio-Iceland, Loki-Norway and Susan-Sweden work in the warehouses, distributing food, clothes, liquids, stationary and whatever else may need distributing around the community,” Yang finishes, “Any questions?”

“Uh, yeah,” Emil says, putting his hand awkwardly in the air, “Why have we crossed over, but Søren hasn’t?”

“That was me,” Luka admits before Yang can answer, “I teleported him to Demark.”

“But surely the General would have been able to follow him,” Berwald points out.

“Søren will not be crossing over at all, as far as I’ve been told,” Yang says.

“Why?” all four of the adult Nordics snap in almost perfect unison.

“That I don’t know,” Yang holds his hands up in surrender, “I don’t get told everything. I’d say ask Yong-Su-Korea, but I don’t think he’ll be leaving the Starting House anytime soon, so you won’t be seeing him. And he doesn’t tell me anything anymore, no matter how nicely I ask. Anyway,” he turns to Matthias, who is still staring at them with a miserable expression, “I haven’t _actually_ given them their tour yet…”

Matthias blinks at him slowly, a small frown pulling at his features gently, as if an expression too fierce would tear his skin off his skull.

“I thought it might do you some good if you were to give them their tour instead,” Yang finishes.

Matthias grunts. He closes his book, throws it on the floor, and rises from the stool. His clothes are loose on his frame, making him somehow seem even smaller, and are very similar to Søren’s; button-down shirt, waistcoat, tie, pressed trousers, and clumpy boots. But the familiar black and red have faded to grey and pink, and have been re-hemmed and fixed several times with grey patches on the elbows of his shirt. His tie is loose and frayed, and his top buttons have fallen off, the collar of the shirt opening enough to reveal an empty gold chain.

“You’ll come with us, though?” Matthias asks Yang. His voice is quiet, tired, but still clearly capable of Søren’s power and melody.

“Yes, but only to fill in what you miss,” Yang answers, “I’d like _you_ to lead the tour.”

“Where do we start?” Matthias asks.

“Let’s start here, and go right, then round,” Yang says, gesturing with his hands as he speaks, “You lead, I’ll stay at the back to make sure we don’t accidentally leave anyone behind.”

Matthias nods in agreement, leading the way out of the house. Berwald takes Peter and Erland by the hands, leading them out, followed by Tino, then Luka and Emil, and Yang brings up the rear as he’d said he would. Out the door, Matthias turns right, where the clock tower stands barely a dozen yards away, and leads the group up to the doorway of the structure.

“This is where the ‘children’ tend to live,” Matthias announces, voice clear and bright, “But there are beds for Peter and Erland back at our house if they would prefer to sleep in those.”

“Why is there so much blood on the steps?” Tino asks nervously. The pathway below them is stained in red, streaking in a clear path back past the Nordic house, to a house with a smoking chimney and iron bars over the windows.

“That’s Scottie’s,” Matthias explains, “Scotland’s. He visits the ‘children’ as and when he can but is usually in quite bad shape. The ‘children’ built him a lift about eighty years ago so he could get to the top floors even if he couldn’t walk, but since Oliver crossed over he’s been able to use the stairs.”

“He comes here _bleeding_?” Tino asks, slack-jawed.

“Yes. Often missing limbs, still wrapped in chains or rope or bandages, or with something sticking out of him. Or a combination.”

“That is not healthy,” Emil says dumbly. The rest of the Nordics look queasy.

“No, it isn’t. But no one’s actually been able to stop him. Oliver-England tries, but he’s become quite a good escape artist in recent years.”

“What does he even _do_ with the children?” Berwald asks, sounding slightly concerned.

“Tells stories, mostly. Sleeps in there sometimes. Looks after the children. He’s basically their nanny.”

“Would you like to see where your counterparts live?” Yang asks Peter and Erland.

Peter and Erland share a look, then Peter answers; “I think we’ll stay in the house for now.”

“Suit yourself. If you change your minds, you can ask Matthias to show you around the clock tower,” Yang says, then looks up at Matthias, “Can’t they?”

“Yeah,” Matthias answers plainly, “This way.”

He leads away from the clock tower, and the crossed-over Nordics huddle close to him as they move, Matthias pointing out more of the buildings as Yang encourages him.

“That’s the farmhouse. Holl and Bell and a few others live there, looking after the last of the animal representatives, and making food to be re-sealed for the future. They’re also trying to get fresh food to grow. They’ve had no luck so far.

“That is the doctor’s house. Yang lives there. There’s a surgery, lots of medicine storage, and a torture chamber.

“That’s the Starting House. You’ve already been there. Like Yong-Su said, no one’s allowed in there except Nikolai…-Russia, Matt-Canada, Lutz-Germany, Lorenzo-Veneziano and Yong-Su-Korea unless announced otherwise.”

“It kind of looks like Ludwig’s h- Ludwig-Germany’s house,” Tino comments.

Matthias is silent for a few seconds. “Yes, it will do. This place used to be Berlin before the Wars.”

“Really?” Berwald frowns slightly, “I would have thought it would be Moscow or somewhere in Russia, with your leader being Russia.”

“But the other Russia’s using Germany as his base as well,” Luka says, “That’s what the General said.”

“It’s the easiest place to crossover,” Matthias says, “For us anyway. Yong-Su can cross over from anywhere he likes to anywhere he likes, we’re not sure why. Nations can crossover from anywhere in our world to anywhere in your world. Keeping most of us in your Berlin will just be an easy way to keep track of us.”

The group are silent as Matthias leads the way to the library. It is a large building of multiple sections that decades ago was probably painted in bright, friendly colours, but almost two centuries of being left uncleaned has blackened the bricks with muck. An eagle has been carved into the wood of the door, and Matthias runs his fingers idly over one of the wings as he opens the door, the splinters having smoothed down over the years.

The library is much cleaner on the inside than the outside. The carpet is trampled, almost completely worn away in some places. The shelves are organised and dusted, the books old with cracked spines and yellow pages. The chairs have dips in their cushions and patches in their fabric, but still appear cozy huddled in groups in the corners of the rooms. The desk is clean, organised. A large radio stands on the desk, antenna unfolded.

Erland and Peter wriggle their hands out of Berwald’s, Erland wandering up to the radio. Matthias watches him cautiously as the boy turns up the volume. Squealing static fills the room, and Luka flinches at the shot of pain to their ears. Erland adjusts the dials on the front of the radio, presses at buttons and flicks the antenna with his fingers, but the static doesn’t stop, only changes in pitch until Luka wants to set the ancient-looking tech on fire.

“There’s nothing to listen to,” Erland states obviously, “Why is it here?”

“In case there ever is something to listen to,” Matthias answers, “Nikolai says there are no more humans, but that can’t be right. If there are no humans, there are no nation representatives; there is no us without the humans. There has to be humans out there, somewhere. I keep listening for communication. Me and Örlander are the only ones who bother anymore.”

“What’s behind this door?” Peter asks, his hand on the handle of a windowless wooden door.

“Just a cupboard,” Matthias answers quickly, “We should be moving on; this isn’t exactly an interesting place.”

Peter pushes the door open, and Matthias dashes over to him. Behind the door is a huge room, dark and dusty. Peter peers in, leaning through the doorway. The air in the room is dry and heavy, like leaning over a burning fire. Large shapes stand in the room, tall and daunting.

“What _is_ that room?” Yang asks.

Matthias sighs deeply. He drags Peter out of the room and slams the door, collapsing heavily against it. “This,” he knocks on the door behind him, “Is a teleport. It leads to a room in the Starting House, a hidden room far underground. It was where Gilbert hid his journals. Gilbert used it to move around in secret without anyone realising he had left the house.”

“No one knew it was here?” Luka asks.

“No, only me, Gilbert and… Loki,” Matthias says, saying Loki’s name very softly, “It was Loki who put it there, before he gave up his magic.”

“He _gave up_ his magic?!” Luka’s jaw drops.

“Yeah. To Nikolai. They wanted to be happy, and they thought the burden of magic was what was making them so sad and serious all the time. They got rid of the responsibility, spent a few years going absolutely wild, then they calmed back down.”

“So… they were no different?”

“No, no, they were different. Slept better. Laughed more. Expressed themself more, especially with their… body.”

An awkward silence reigns for several seconds.

“Right!” Yang says with a clap of his hands, startling the group, “Like you said, Matthias; we should be moving on.”

* * *

It takes over an hour for the group to circle the community. Around the community there is a fence, made first of crisscrossing green wire, with barbed wire wrapped firmly around the wires, and shrapnel and broken glass have been thrown over the fence to form a six meter border of small spikes. Creatures lumber around past the fence, some far away, some having made homes in the collapsed houses nearby.

Near the starting house there is a pair of gates, guarded by Siddeek-Turkey and Lan-Vietnam. There are three trucks close to it, one loaded up with plastic gallons. Matthias explains that a team, compiled monthly of one of Nikolai's trusted henchman, members of the military, anyone who may not have been pulling their weight, and usually Al, travel out to gather up food, liquids, clothes, and anything else that may need re-stoking. The last mission like this was the week before Nikolai crossed over. It had taken three days.

The group finally get back to their end of the community, the clock tower leering two houses away. The house Scottie's blood originates from used to be a two-story building, but the top floor is completely boarded up. Lights flicker from downstairs, and smoke is coming out of one of the side windows as well as the chimney.

The front door flies open, more smoke billowing out, and Francis is trying to disguise his laughter as coughs. An oven mitt is thrown at his head, and he collapses to the floor, guffawing.

Arthur storms out of the house, kicking Francis in the shins as he passes. Flour clings to his front, and his hands are blistered with healing burns. He freezes just out the door, shocked to see the Nordics, then he dashes up, grabbing Luka by the arm and drags them away, calling "Just need to borrow them a second!" over his shoulder as he goes.

"When's the last time you saw any fae folk?" he asks Luka quietly.

Luka frowns, then looks around. As Arthur said, their fae folk are gone; no trolls hovering behind their brothers, no nisser clinging to their shins, no cheeky sprites dancing around them. "I don't know. Before I crossed over, maybe?"

Arthur has dragged Luka to the side of the house, out of the sight of the group. "Try moving something."

"What?"

"It's basic magic; move something," Arthur pulls a pen from his pocket and throws it on the floor, "Make it levitate, roll it across the floor, I don't care; just make it move."

Luka throws him a frown, then focuses on the pen. He gives it a mental push, but the inanimate object just sits there, like inanimate objects usually do.

"Can't do it, can you?" Arthur says, "You're not going to be able to do anything with your magic here. I tried to ask the other you about it, but as soon as I mentioned 'magic' they got really angry and threw me out, screaming something about upsetting Matthias."

"Huh," is Luka's only response.

"Luka-Norway?" Yang pokes his head around the corner, "I want take you, Berwald-Sweden and Emil-Iceland to the warehouses, give you a more detailed tour of those. Are you going to be long?"

"No, I'll come back later," Luka answers. They gives Arthur a nodded goodbye, and follows Yang back to the front of the building.

Arthur picks up his pen, wipes a bit of dust off with his fingers, and goes back into Oliver's house, pocketing the pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason Luka and Arthur (and Vladimir and Ivan) can't do magic is because there is no magic left in that universe; it all crossed over with Nikolai. In 'our' universe the 'other' magic nations could probably do magic if they wanted to, but the only one to think of this is Nikolai  
> The fae folk died with the humans  
> There are no humans left in the 'other' universe. Nikolai believes that humankind will return, and that the immortal nations should be at peace with each to create an automatic world peace when the humans return that the nations can teach them.


	48. Tino; Little

Al runs erratically about the house, hooting and hollering like stereotypical Americans do. He jumps over the couch, landing heavily on Matt, and running off while Matt is still gathering his surroundings.

"What is he doing?" Nikolai grumbles, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Oh, fuck knows," Matt responds.

"Wake up, poppets!" Oliver sings, skipping out the kitchen with a large plate of biscuits.

Matt groans, and glances at the clock. "I've been asleep for half an hour," he whines.

"Poor baby," Oliver puts the biscuits down on the coffee table and kisses Matt on the forehead, "Stay here, I'll go make you some nice hot cocoa to help you get back to sleep."

Matt only grunts in response as Oliver skips off again. He peers at the piled up plate, "Doesn't Dad usually make rounded biscuits?"

"I think so," Nikolai answers, still curled up in his claimed armchair, "I don't usually pay attention to their shape, I just eat them."

"Yeah, well these are not round. And they're decorated in green, not Dad's usual pink and blue."

"Maybe he ran out of those colours?"

"Nah, something's happening," Matt says, reaching over to the plate and picking up one of the suspicious sweets, "It's a Christmas tree."

"Is it?" Nikolai sits up, staring at the shape Matt is holding up, "It doesn't look anything like a tree."

"It's a generic Christmas tree shape."

"I wouldn't know. I don't celebrate Christmas. I'm Russian."

"Explain why Al's being more annoying than usual," Matt says, taking a bite of the biscuit. It's far too sickly, gritty with sugar, but Matt's sweet tooth is not complaining.

"Somehow. Fucking capitalist."

Oliver comes back in, shoving a large mug of hot chocolate into Matt's hands and dragging a patchwork blanket over him. "There you go poppet~ Want me to pass you a biscuit?"

"No, I got one," Matt says.

"You're such a good lad, aren't you," Oliver plants a kiss on Matt's forehead, and Nikolai suppresses a laugh at Matt's face.

" _Wesołych Świąt_!" Feliks screeches, appearing in the doorway in a flurry of glitter. Torys follows him solemnly with a dustpan and brush, already half-filled with the flecks of shiny plastic.

"Yes, yes,  _Schastlivogo Rozhdestva_  to you too," Nikolai says, "Excuse me."

"Is he sick?" Feliks asks, pointing at Matt curled up on the sofa, already falling back asleep.

"Oh, goodness!" Oliver shrieks, putting a hand to Matt's forehead, "He's warm, oh goodness me, oh goodness me!"

"I've been laid over a steaming drink," Matt says plainly, but Oliver is already skittering off to the kitchen in a worried frenzy. "Thanks, Polski."

Nikolai pads up to the second floor, and into one of the guestrooms. Katyusha and Natalya are already awake, Katyusha still in her nightgown, and talking quietly to each other. Nikolai nods politely before entering.

" _Schastlivogo Rozhdestva_ ," he says with a broad grin, hands hidden behind his back.

"We're Slavic; we celebrate Orthodox Christmas," Natalys says plainly, "That was two weeks ago."

"Yes, well, I didn't realise," Nikolai says, "I didn't realise it was so late until today. I'm very sorry. I got you presents but I didn't get to give you them."

"You did?" Katyusha sits upright, "That's sweet of you."

Nikolai pulls the two parcels out from behind his back and passes them to the respective sister. A hair ribbon for Natalya, and a small teddy for Katyusha. "They are only small, but I thought you might like them."

"It's lovely," Katyusha gushes.

Natalya looks over the new ribbon. It is lilac, not the white she usually wears, but it's so slight a colour change, the lilac being a very pale shade of purple, she doesn't think anyone will notice. She unfastens her usual ribbon, and replaces it with the new one. It is slightly thicker than her usual ribbons, and the bow feels strangely heavy. She ties the other around her wrist, worried about losing it.

Feliks is still throwing glitter about as Nikolai and Natalya head downstairs. Lily is carrying a tray of hot cocoa, and holds it out to the siblings as they reach the bottom of the stairs.

"Merry Christmas," she says kindly, sounding like Lillya, "You look very pretty today, Natalya."

Natalya blinks in surprise, "You think so?"

"Yes. You suit purple very nicely."

"I wear purple every day."

"I know. But not light purples. They suit you much better than dark ones; bring out your eyes."

Natalya blushes. She dashes after Nikolai, striding into the living room.

In the living room, the plate of biscuits is already almost empty, Oliver in the kitchen whistling 'I saw three ships come sailing in' as he bakes more.

"Brat?" Natalya says sheepishly.

"Yes?" Nikolai answers, turning to face her.

Nataly grabs him, pulling him into a tight hug. Nikolai freezes, alarmed, before he gently hugs her back.

"Are you alright?" Nikolai asks.

"Yeah. I just don't get hugged enough. Ivan usually just runs away."

"Then he's a pathetic, loveless coward, isn't he?"

"Woah, Ivan Braginski a coward?" Gilbert says from the kitchen doorway, "Nope, not gonna agree with that."

"Didn't ask you to," Nikolai spits.

"Don't fight," Matt groans, "It's Christmas."

"I'm Russian; I don't celebrate Christmas."

Al bursts into the room, face lit up like a kid on Christmas. Finally, that metaphor is relevant. "Guys, you are  _never_  going to guess what!"

"You're right, so just tell us," Matt says bluntly.

"It's snowing!"

"What?!" Matt leaps out of the blankets and dashes to the window, throwing the curtains open. "Oh my  _god_!"

The ground is covered in a thick blanket of white, about knee-deep, patterned with the footprints of skittering birds. Icicles cling to branches and overhanging roofs. The sky is heavy and grey, threatening tantalisingly to burst and drop more cold flakes down.

"Haven't you seen snow before?" Gilbert jokes.

"Not about a hundred years," Nikolai answers, the hug between him and Natalya unravelling.

"A hundred and three, actually," Matt corrects.

"You've counted?"

"Of course. Snow's important to me; I'm Canadian."

Liz comes skipping in, pulling hats and jackets and mittens from the bottomless pocket on the front of her apron and handing them out. Katyusha is just behind her, with an armful of scarves she's knitted while staying in Germany.

Matt and Al dress quickly, both taking the fleecy jackets produced by Liz over their own. They dash out the front door, Al running around crazily, Matt diving straight into the cold.

"Brat," Katyusha says with a smile, "Do you want a scarf to play in the snow? I don't want you to damage that one; it's obviously important to you."

"It's alright; I'm not going out," Nikolai says, "I am an adult, I don't need to do silly thing like play in snow."

Katyusha and Natalya both raise an eyebrow at him. Liz, behind them, pulls a large red jumper from her pocket and holds it up to Nikolai. Nikolai sighs. "Alright, yes, I want to play in the snow, but only because we haven't had any in a hundred years."

"A hundred and three," Gilbert corrects with a grin, and Nikolai flips him the bird.

Nikolai pulls the jumper on, accepting the scarf from Katyusha and wrapping his around her shoulders. It writhes a little, making Katyusha squeal in shock, before it settles and returns to being an inanimate object.

Al dives at him to white-wash him, and Nikolai ducks. Matt has been chasing Al, and finally manages to grab him and pull him to the floor, dragging the snow over him. Nikolai kicks some snow at Al, before he stoops and packs together a snowball.

Al laughs out loud as the snowball explodes against the back of Matt's head. Matt stands, shoving a snowball together, and throws it directly in Nikolai's face.

Nikolai's laugh dies instantly, and Matt turns and runs in the opposite direction, Nikolai only a few steps after him, Al scrambling upright and following them.

Lily stands next to Natalya in the window, the final hot cocoa in her hand as she tucks the tray under her arm. "Merry Christmas, Natalya."

"I'm Belarusian; I don't celebrate Christmas," Natalya says dryly.

"Happy holidays, then," Lily says with a short laugh.


	49. Mai; Tomorrow

"So what are you going to do when Søren realises that the General doesn't have his siblings?" Alistair asks.

Matt, Al, Lutz, Gilbert and Lorenzo are asleep in a pile on the floor, having spent most of Christmas and Boxing Day drinking. Alistair sits on the sofa, cradling a mug of vegetable soup and holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel to his forehead in an attempt to chase away his own hangover, and Nikolai is in his usual armchair, his own magic scarf returned to him. Katyusha's scarves are laid out over the fire guard to dry.

"I'm not sure," Nikolai admits.

"You're great at making plans, aren't you?" Alistair says sarcastically.

"I could convince him they're in another country."

"I feel like he won't fall for that twice. He's not great at thinking with his head but he's not flat-out  _stupid_."

"I could clone them." Nikolai says, "Søren won't notice the difference."

"Developing a cloning fetish, are ye'? Anyway, they've already crossed over, so you're a bit late."

"Would you stop tearing toles in my plans?!" Nikolai snaps.

"Stop making shitty-ass plans, then."

Nikolai teleports, appearing in front of Alistair with a knife, pressing the blade against the Scot's throat, "I will cut your tongue out."

"My tongue isn't in my throat," Alistair says plainly.

Nikolai swipes the blade against Alistair's face, and the Scot hisses in pain as his flesh opens, blood dripping down to his jaw, "Well, you're getting warmer."

"I have better things to be doing than arguing with a has-been's guard dog," Nikolai snaps.

"The  _fuck_  did you just call our Artie?"

Nikolai storms off, through into the kitchen, slamming the door in Alistair's face, the Scot settling with just a few insults through the door before he heads back to the sofa and the abandoned ice pack, regretting his own noisiness.

Yao stands at the stove, keeping an eye on a large pot of the vegetable soup Alistair had been cradling. Raivis and Feliks are cutting up a selection of other vegetables, and Torys is flitting about throwing away cast offs and cleaning up small messes, mostly around Feliks. The bin is half-full of glitter thrown by the Pole over the Christmas season.

Nikolai stands by Yao, speaking politely to him; " _Privyet_ , Yao."

" _Nǐ hǎo_ ," Yao responds, "Are you hungry?"

"No. I was thinking I would have a walk to Taiwan, and wondered if you would want to accompany me."

Yao sends Nikolai a glare, "You'd better not be thinking of hurting her."

"No, it is simply an innocent visit. Mai is a sweet girl, if I remember rightly, I wouldn't want to hurt her."

"I would also have called Lillya and Sophia sweet girls," Yao says briskly, "And I would have called Feliciano, Sean and Matthew sweet boys."

"That is irrelevant."

"Fine, I will come with you," Yao says, "Mostly to make sure you keep your word. Rhiona,  _Àirén_ , keep an eye on this."

"My name's Seamus, not Aaron," Seamus says with a confused frown.

"No… like, sweetheart… it's Chinese..." Yao explains.

"Oh, right, my bad."

* * *

Mai, representative of Taiwan, is in her front garden, watering daylilies. She screams aloud as a large, dark shadow covers her.

"Aiyyaa!" Yao smacks Nikolai on the arm as the Russian giggles, "You said you weren't going to hurt her!"

"I didn't hurt her," Nikolai defends, "It's not my fault she's easily scared."

"She could have been hurt!"

"I'm okay," Mai says calmly, clutching her watering can to her chest, "I just wasn't expecting anyone to appear here today. Why  _are_  you here?"

"We just came to visit," Nikolai says innocently.

"Uh-huh," Mai says, not bothering to mask her disbelief, "Would you like some tea?" she heads towards her little home, Yao and Nikolai following, politely taking their shoes off at the door and padding inside, Mai pouring out tea, kept warm over a flame stove, into decorative cups. She hands one first to Yao, then to Nikolai. "Why are you really here?"

"Just visiting," Nikolai repeats.

Mai rolls her eyes at his persistence. "Have either of you seen Kiku?"

"Yes," Nikolai answers, "He's in Germany."

"He's been there a long time. Longer then he usually is. He doesn't like to impose."

"You know what little Germany's like; all meetings and organisation and cleanliness. And what with Vargas, they've probably just overrun whatever it was they were doing."

"Kiku usually sends out emails about these things, though," Mai says, "So what's been going on? First Kiku goes missing, then you two show up at my house unannounced, and you're  _definitely_  not the Russia I'm used to, so what's been happening?"

"He," Yao nods to Nikolai, "Is Ivan's second player, and he's taking over the world. Kiku has been switched with his counterpart, and believe me; you don't want 'Kuro' appearing at your house. He's a bit aggressive, and the other America will probably follow him and that American is just a trigger happy danger-junkie."

Mai blinks at her 'older brother' in shock.

"That's probably better than I could have put it," Nikolai says.

"And now you're here to take over Taiwan?" Mai asks, voice barely above a frightened whisper.

"No! I'm just here to visit!" Nikolai insists.

"I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself." Nikolai shrugs, and takes a long sip of the tea.

Mai glares at him. "Fine, if you're going to play about like this. How's world domination going?"

"It's going well. Although I'm slightly worried;" Nikolai's words cause a sudden perk in Mai and Yao's interests, "I've been killing people cleanly and quickly recently, and I don't want the adoring loyal followers to think I'm becoming soft. But killing  _everyone_  slowly and painfully and bloodily just gets tedious, so I'm in a bit of a predicament over it all."

Yao pulls a face of disgust. Mai gives a cough, "So, you've taken over China and Japan, I presume?"

"Yes. Well, only China. America got Japan for me. Probably the only order of mine he's really followed. That, and Operation Swiss Fire."

"What was that order?" Mai asks sweetly.

"Burning the Zwingli house down so I could destroy all Lillya's lovely memories of Vash and use her misery to draw her out of hiding so I could kill her."

"Oh."

"Well, I should be going," Nikolai says, standing up, "Like I said; I'm only visiting. I will be visiting Vietnam alone, if you don't mind."

"Careful. She's got a paddle and she won't be afraid to smack you with it," Yao retorts.

"You were  _really_  just here to visit?" Mai asks, confused.

"Yes. Did you think I was lying?"

"Yes."

"Rude."

Nikolai leaves, heading to the pier to catch a ferry to Vietnam. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sends Matt a quick message; "In Taiwan, going Vietnam. Get rid of your hangover you're in charge ^J^"

A few minutes later, the phone dings with a message from Matt; "Got call from Taiwan. She's given allegiance. Idk what u did but it worked"

Nikolai grins in triumph.


	50. Lien; Pure

“Who goes there?” Lien snaps as she spins, holding her paddle up defensively, her nón lá pushed off her head and pinning her dark hair to her back. Water clings to her clothes up to her knees, and her sandals have been tied to the long string of her nón lá, swinging about her hips.

“Hello, Lien,” Nikolai greets.

Lien sighs, and lowers the paddle. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Is that how your brother taught you to treat guests?”

“You’re not a guest. I didn’t invite you here.”

“You never invite anybody to your house, so I have to take upon myself to visit. We worry, because you’re very introverted and alone.”

“I’m not ‘alone’,” Lien says shortly, “I just prefer my own company. And I don’t have the space to have regular visitors in my house. I don’t have a huge house like you Europeans.”

“I’m not European. I’m more Asian.”

“Most of your population is European. That makes you European. And whether you’re Asian, European or Martian, you’re still not really welcome here, I’m busy, so if you could leave I would be very grateful.”

Nikolai strides past her quickly, up the dirt path from the rice fields towards Lien’s little shack-house.

“Hey!” Lien yells, running slightly to catch up with him, “I asked you to leave!”

“And I ignored you,” Nikolai says plainly.

“What do you want?!”

“Nothing. I am simply walking.”

“I have asked you to leave. You are not the Russia I know, and you are not welcome in my house.”

Nikolai opens the front door of the shack-house, left unlocked without anything of value to guard, and lets himself in, putting his boots on the top shelf of Lien’s shoe rack and padding inside. He sits himself down on a thin cushion and look around. Washing hangs from a string, and is the only divider between Lien’s floor-mattress bed and the rest of the house. A covered metal pan sits on top of an unlit gas stove, and several canned, tinned and dried foods line the wall behind a few jugs of water decorated with bugs.

“You are just being disrespectful!” Lien snaps. She leaves her paddle by the door and her sandals on the shoe rack as she enters the home, “Get out of my country before I get officials involved!”

“You won’t do that,” Nikolai says plainly, “You know how panicky humans can be around us scary, old, unexplainable nations. Getting the humans involved can only lead to a war; either your humans declaring war on mine, or your humans detaining me and my humans declaring war on yours. Is that you want, Lien?”

Lien glares at him, fists curling and uncurling, eyes wide in anger. She sighs, and Nikolai hides his triumphant smile behind his scarf as her shoulders sag in defeat.

There is mostly silence as Lien peels off her trousers, holding her tunic down to cover herself as she pulls down another pair from the washing line and pull them on. She takes off the tunic, letting her áo  yếm cover her chest, not caring about it’s immodesty. Nikolai remains on the cushion, politely looking in a different direction as she dresses, tapping his fingers idly on the floor in front of him.

“I’m afraid my food is limited, so unless you’re prepared to pay to replace it I won’t be offering you any,” Lien says plainly, throwing her wet clothes into a plastic tub to wash later and switching on the gas stove.

“I am alright with that,” Nikolai says, “I had some tea at your sister Mai’s house. However, I do have some chocolate, if you would like a bit.”

“Chocolate?”

“Yes. I usually have some for Canada, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, will it?” Nikolai holds out the purple packet, and Lien cautiously takes a piece. “Would you like the rest?”

“No, no, it’s not mine,” Lien says.

“It’s alright; Canada has plenty of sweet things. If anything, you’re lowering his risk of developing a cavity.”

“Can nations get cavities?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai laughs, “Matt once found my stash of lollipops and crunched his way through several dozen in a single afternoon. Ended up with a broken tooth and three cavities that didn’t budge for a week. He complained the entire time, and I had to threaten to rip the teeth out of his head before he would shut up.”

“Poor boy,” Lien coos.

“It was his own fault.”

Lien gives a short, fleeting laugh. “You sound like a stern father.”

Nikolai reciprocates the laugh.

“Was he staying with you?” Lien asks, breaking herself another piece of chocolate off, “Canada, I mean, when he got the cavities.”

“He lived with me.”

“So in your universe, Canada was a Russian colony?”

“That’s a simple way to put it,” Nikolai agrees, impressed, “You figured me out pretty quickly.”

“You’re not Ivan at all. And Young-Soo came bugging me a couple of weeks back about the ‘other universe’ and nations swapping over. I brushed it off, but when you arrived it was easy to put the two things together. But Young-Soo never explained this; what are you doing here?”

“Young-Soo doesn’t really understand the ‘other universe’, and he doesn’t know what we’re doing here. But in summary, I am taking over the world.”

“Again?”

“Again, yes. I’m bigger and better than ever, before you start the whole ‘you failed before’.”

“And you’re here to take over Vietnam?”

Nikolai smiles. “Yes. Although, I’m hoping that it will be with minimal hassle. I don’t really have the time for a war; I told Canada I’d be home in a few days.”

“You’re a dick. Fine, you have my allegiance. Not that I have a lot to offer.”

“Don’t be silly, Lien. You are a strong woman with a brilliant history, don’t put yourself down so much.”

Lien rolls her eye. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Yes.”

“Will you leave now?”

Nikolai laughs. He stands up and pads back across the room, leaving the chocolate on the floor. He pulls his boots on, and leaves with a cheery wave.

Lien wraps the chocolate up in its wrapper, and puts it under her sink for safekeeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lien prefers to stay in rural parts of her country, helping with manual labour. She keeps to herself a lot. She doesn't like to take things, not even from her government, and earns her wages with hard work.
> 
> nón lá; conical straw hat  
> áo yếm; underwear, shaped like a halter top


	51. Young-Soo; Immortal Warrior

“I am back!” Nikolai hollers as he arrives in the Berlin house.

“Aw, I was enjoying our stoner overlord,” Al whines, “Our stonerlord.”

“I haven’t been stoned,” Matt says dully, “A few things to report; Lovino and Antonio have tried to escape.”

“Oh. You stopped them?”

“Stopped them, and Lorenzo cut both their throats. They woke up as Flavio and Tonio. Gilbert was upset, and he’s shut himself in the upstairs bathroom, which is where Yao went when he came back. They haven’t left since yesterday.”

“And my sisters?”

“Natalya is in the bathroom too. Katyusha is asleep in the basement, and has been for the past four days. Hasn’t moved. And that’s everything.”

“You’ve done well, Matt,” Nikolai praises.

“I was taught by the best, Boss.”

Al makes kissy noises at the pair. Matt kicks him in the dick.

Nikolai heads down into the basement. There is a strong smell of nail varnish, Feliks sitting at a coffee table with Liz, Sophia and the now awake ‘other’ Sweden representative Susan, giving the ‘other’ nations manicures, Rhiona sitting nearby brushing and re-braiding her hair. Torys sits on the bottom stair of the basement, one of Liz’s hats on his head.

“Mister Russia!” he cries with a slightly exaggerated jump, “You’re back?”

“Clearly,” Nikolai says plainly, “How is Katyusha?”

“Asleep.”

“I already know that. I meant; is she just tired? Ill? Turning to her second player?”

“I wouldn’t know. The only one who really knows about the first/second player transformations is Young-Soo.”

“No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand the ‘other universe’ at all.”

“He knows more than any of us.”

Nikolai growls, then sighs. “I suppose even if he’s no use, he’s another conquered nation, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir,” Torys answers.

“Keep an eye on her,” Nikolai orders before striding back upstairs.

* * *

 

Im Young-Soo sits outside his face, feet dipped in the pond and kicking gently, rippling the water and sending the fishes darting about. He looks up as he hears Nikolai’s footsteps crunching on the path, and his eyes widen. He looks back down at his pond, then up at Nikolai.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says plainly.

“Well, I am,” Nikolai says equally plainly, “And I need your help.”

“Bao-Bao-Yao said I shouldn’t get involved with the second players,” Young-Soo says, slowly pulling his feet from the pond, “And I don’t even know where Bao-Bao-Yao is, but you’re here and you’re not supposed to be, so now I’m scared.”

“Your… Bao… Yao is in Germany.”

“Why’s he in Germany?”

“Never mind that, I need your help!” Nikolai snaps.

“I’m not helping you! You’re not even supposed to be here!”

“I need you to help my sister,” Nikolai says, “Help my sister, I can take you to your brother.”

“Which sister is it?” Young-Soo asks.

“Ukraine.”

“Yekaterina? I don’t like Yekaterina, she’s aggressive and she shouts at me.”

“No, no, she’s still Katyusha. She’s ill, and we think it’s to do with the open rift between our… universes. She’s in Germany anyway, with your Yao, so we can go make sure she’s okay, then you can see Yao, alright?”

“I’m bringing Yao back out with me, back to Asia. And you have to leave me alone.”

“Whatever,” Nikolai growls, “Just come along!”

Nikolai strides off, back west to Germany. Young-Soo dashes into his house, grabs his shoes and a shoulder bag of belongings, and hops down the path to pull them on before he runs to catch Nikolai up.

 

* * *

 

The journey back to Germany is quiet. Young-Soo follows after Nikolai, listening to music on his phone instead of trying to engage in a conversation. Nikolai is able to ignore the occasional outburst of singing or dancing.

Lutz greets them at the door, as he usually does. “Katyusha schläft noch.”

“He’s not supposed to be here either,” Young-Soo says, “Stay away from me,” he tells Lutz firmly. Lutz only stares at him.

“Lutz, get Yao down to the basement,” Nikolai orders plainly, heading down to the basement.

“Why are we going to the basement?” Young-Soo asks.

“Because Katyusha’s in the basement.”

“Why? You haven’t locked her up have you?”

“No! There’s a little apartment down here. Gilbert lives here.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. I don’t visit often. Bao-Bao-Yao says Gilbert is a bad influence.”

“That’s true. Torys, is Katyusha still asleep?”

“Yeah,” Torys answers. He is still sat on the bottom step, hat pulled down further over his head.

“Any changes?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Where is she?”

“Gilbert’s bed.”

Nikolai steps past Torys. Young-Soo avoids Torys as widely as the stairway will let him. e glance back at the European over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes and swinging his two fingers back and forth ins a gesture of “I’m watching you.” ‘Torys’ takes a leaf from Ebony Raven Dark’ness Dementia Way’s book and sticks his middle finger up at him.

Young-Soo leans over Katyusha, running some quick, basic medical check-ups; pulse, breath, warmth, responsive eye dilation. Nikolai watches his every move, scarf writhing in warning as Young-Soo put his cheek on Katyusha’s chest to check her breathing.

“She seems to be okay, just really tired,” Young-Soo says calmly, “Probably been overwhelmed or depressed by something and retreated into sleep. Alternatively, something’s going on in her country that’s making her ill.”

Nikolai sighs a breath of relief.

“Torys, on the other hand,” Young-Soo says, “Definitely changing. I can sense the rift on him, and he’s behaving unusually.”

“Is he,” Nikolai muses aloud, standing up, “Stay here. Don’t do anything unnecessary.”

“Mr Braginski?” ‘Torys’ asks, “Is Miss Katyusha alright?”

“Young-Soo is seeing to her,” Nikolai says, sitting down next to ‘Torys’.

“I wasn’t aware Young-Soo was a doctor.”

“You were the one who recommended I get Young-Soo.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was, wasn’t I?” ‘Torys’ half-laughs, “I’m tired, sorry, my memory’s being weird.”

“That’s not the only thing,” Nikolai reaches across and whips ‘Torys’ hat off his head.

Bright green hair tumbles down. It is thin, flat, half-dead. Tomakas is weedy, almost fragile in appearance. Dirt clings to his hands and nails, remnants of his desperate attempts to get new life to grow from the dead earth of the ‘other universe’.

“You got me,” Tomakas says with a huff of a dry laugh, “Better go report myself to Gilbert then, huh?”

“Probably for the best,” Nikolai answers.

“Feliks is going to be upset.”

“Yes, probably. But it’s your own fault.”

“I couldn’t _help_ crossing over. Torys got emotional and with all this crossing over and the open rift, I just sort of…. _crossed_ , it wasn’t my fault!”

“What the fuck does Torys even have to get emotional about?”

Tomakas thinks, eyes narrowed in thought, “I think… it was something to do with Natalya…”

“Natalya?”

“Yes…. Natalya and Lily. He got upset over Natalya preferring Lily over him. Fucking pathetic.”

Nikolai snorts in laughter. “Like you were any better.” He stands up, going back into Gilbert’s bedroom. “Get your brother and go. I can look after Katyusha.”

Young-Soo gets up, shoves his belongings back into his bag, and walks out of the room. Tomakas is standing at the bottom of the stairs, and gives Young-Soo a grin and a wave, blocking the stairway completely with his wide stance.

“Tomakas is blocking the stairs,” Young-Soo whines/shouts, and Nikolai growls in annoyance.

“Tomakas,” he calls, “Let Young-Soo past!”

“I’m not stopping him,” Tomakas says innocently.

“Don’t try that shit with me. I’ve seen you swinging your tools around, let Young-Soo get past you. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Not really. None of the other… ‘other’ Baltics or Poland are here. It’s rather boring, you know.”

“So you’re entertaining yourself by bullying young Koreans?”

Tomakas presses himself into the wall, and Young-Soo passes quickly, widely, dashing up the stairs.

Several minutes pass, before footsteps come storming down the stairs. Yao bursts into Gilbert’s room, Young-Soo just behind him, clinging to his brother’s arm. “Why is Young-Soo here, aru?!”

“Heh, your ‘aru’ is showing,” Young-Soo giggles.

“I needed his help,” Nikolai says.

“He shouldn’t be here, aru! I don’t want him being exposed to so many of you ‘second players’ at once, aru! And I’ve heard your Canada and Italy talking about some ‘open rift’ between the universes, and that does not sound safe, and Young-Soo is sensitive to these things anyway, and now I sound like a white suburban mom but this is still a dangerous place for Young-Soo to be and it is your fault, aru! You have no right to be dragging Young-Soo into this! He's too young, and he's too vulnerable, and he's too unstable! There's no telling what could have happened, aru!”

“Calm down, Bao-Bao-Yao, I’m okay,” Young-Soo soothes.

“This is not a ‘dangerous place’,” Nikolai scoffs, “I ‘dragged him’ into nothing. I asked him for help checking Katyusha’s health, that is all!”

“You should have found someone else. Or taken Katyusha to Korea. He's safer in Korea, aru!”

“I couldn’t be moving her long distances in this condition!”

“You shouldn’t be letting Young-Soo wander around second players with his condition!”

“It’s not a _condition_ , Bao-Bao-Yao,” Young-Soo whines.

“He was about to leave anyway,” Nikolai says, “We had a deal; he checked on Katyusha, then he got you and went home and I would leave him alone.”

“You did?” Yao asks.

“Yeah, we did Bao-Bao-Yao,” Young-Soo says proudly.

“Oh. Well done, dìdi,” Yao says.

Young-Soo glows with pride.

“Russia, we will talk about this another time,” Yao says firmly.

Nikolai is staring at them, smiling nostalgically.

“What is it?” Yao says suspiciously.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just… Young-Soo was being all mature, and then you come in and he turns back into that little kid you raised. When you’re both together, it’s like no time has passed.”

“We don’t talk about our pasts much,” Young-Soo says.

“Oh, it’s no good to bottle it up; our pasts are emotional things and emotions are heavy things to carry. You can come and talk to me, lift the weight off your chest.”

“No, he can’t,” Yao says plainly.

“Bao-Bao-Yao says I can’t.”

“Shame. I love listening to people telling stories. I’m getting almost too familiar with fairytales.”

“Fairytales? What are you talking about?” Yao asks.

“Oh! You tell those fairytales!” Young-Soo asks, bouncing up and down on the spot, “You told me that one about the frost-man!”

“I did?” Nikolai frowns, “I don’t remember telling you any fairy stories.”

“You did, you did! But I was very little.”

“You were?”

“Yes! Tell me it again!”

“I don’t even know what fairytale you’re talking about!”

“There were two children, and a frost-man, and one was polite and one was rude and he gave them boxes.”

Nikolai stares at him. “I think I know the one you mean.”

“Tell me it!” Young-Soo cries. He lets go of Yao and dashes over to Nikolai, sitting on the bed next to him.

“Weren’t you leaving?” Tomakas asks Yao. Yao just shrugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomakas is one of the few people trying to get greenery to grow in the 'other universe'. His hair is green because he was the last nation to have any greenery.  
> Yes, Tomakas/Torys swapped because Torys got friendzoned
> 
> Katyusha's okay. When Redd Scarf and I were rp'ing this, it was around the time of the Ukranian riots, but I figured that was a little inappropriate so here it's simply that she's overwhelmed/overworked
> 
> Yao is damned protective  
> Bao-Bao-Yao is a mash up of bao-bao (brother in Chinese) and Yao  
> Figuring out the meaning of Young-Soo's name was difficult. 'Immortal Warrior' may be wrong


	52. Morozko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; venacular change and archaic language. i.e. this is written old-fashioned like

Once upon a time, a woman lived with her daughter whom she loved dearly, her step daughter whom she despised, her husband and a dog that did not bark.

One winter day, the mother gives the step-daughter the thinnest clothes she could find; a torn summer dress, a single cloak and shoes with holes in, and a basket. She ordered her to go out into the meadows to collect roots to cook with. The step daughter cried, because she knew that is was too cold for roots to grow, and definitely too cold for her to be outside in such meagre clothing. But her stepmother does not listen, and the poor girl is forced to go. The dog follows her to the door, then sits by the window to wait for her return.

She walks through the meadows for many hours, the cold seeping through her clothes and shoes and chilling her to the bone. Many times she digs through the snow with her bare hands, only to find dry mud.

A pedlar came stumbling through the meadow. He was almost naked, aside from a pair of ragged trousers, and so thin he was almost a skeleton. He was old, so old all the hair on his head had run away to his chin, forming a beard that almost reached his knees. His feet were bare, his teeth chattered, and his hands shook.

Now at first, the girl is very frightened by this pedlar. however, she soon takes pity on him, taking off her shoes and cloak to give to the man. The pedlar protests, but the girl says to him;

"I am younger than thee, but the cold is merciless to the aged. I am to go home soon; I feel thee have greater need of these then I."

The pedlar is very grateful, and he walks around the meadow with her. Eventually he asks her;

"For what does thee dig through the snow?"

"I am searching for roots."

"There are no root, silly child! It is far to cold for anything but the holly and the wolves!"

"I know, but my stepmother insisted."

"Thy stepmother sounds like a cruel woman."

"I do not think so."

"Thee does not think so?"

"No, I do not. She is cold to me, but I do not believe people are truly  _cruel_ , only unkind if they believe they need to be."

"And why would thy stepmother believe that this," the pedlar gestured to the holes in the snow, "Is needed?"

"We need roots for food."

"Does thy stepmother not know that root will not grow in this cold?"

The girl cannot answer.

The pedlar smiles suddenly, "Follow me, child. I have something to show thee."

The girl is of course surprised, but follows him. They walk together, out of the meadows and into the woods.

Under a huge tree in the middle of a clearing, a wooden chest sits. The old man tells the girl to open it.

When she opens the chest, she finds it full of gold and jewels. She turns back to the pedlar in awe and confusion to find that he is gone. Where he had stood, a man in thick furs floats, mist rising from his body, giving him a very frightening appearance. But the girl is not afraid; this man is Father Frost, and he has given her no reason to fear him.

"This chest is thine to keep," Father Frost tells the girl, "Whenever thee open it, it shall have the very thing that thy needs. Cherish it, kind girl, for thine is of good heart and thy have earned this gift."

At the house, the mother stirs a hot stew, cackling to herself of her victory. The dog jumps down from the window, barks three times and says;

"The good girl is coming home! The good girl is coming home! The good girl is coming home!"

Of course, the mother, father, and daughter are alarmed by this, and very confused. An hour passes, and the step daughter arrives home, wrapped in a fur coat and hat, sturdy boots on her feet, and a wooden chest under her arm.

Her stepmother is not amused. "Where are the roots?" she demands.

The step daughter put the chest on the floor, and opens it. Inside were dozens upons of roots, from turnips to potatoes to leeks, large and clean and ready to eat.

Her father is delighted to see this, and the step daughter tells the story of the pedlar whom had lead her to this marvellous magical chest. However, she does not tell them that the pedlar was Father Frost, fearing that she would not be believed. The dog curls at her feet, asleep.

The step sister grows jealous, and the next day she begs her mother to let her go out into the meadows for roots. At first her mother refuses, believing such menial labour to be below her beloved daughter, but her daughter is restless. Finally, her mother gives her thick boots, and warm coat and hat, and a basket half-filled with food.

The daughter walks to the meadow, and leans against the fence, waiting for the pedlar. Minutes pass, and she grows impatient. She wanders further into the meadows, eating at one of the cakes her mother had given her.

After several hours, the pedlar comes stumbling through the meadow.

"May I kindly have thine hat, dear girl?" he asks.

"No," she answers, "If I give it to thee, then I shall be cold."

"Then perhaps, some of the food in thy basket, then?"

"No. If I give it to thee there shall be naught enough for me. And ugly pedlars such as thyself should not be prying at people's baskets; thy may be mistaken for a thief."

"Thine is a rude girl."

"No, me is not. Thine is a rude man for asking me to suffer for thy sake."

The pedlar begins to stumble away. At first, the daughter thinks good riddance of him, until she remembers her step sister's story and begins to follow him. The pedlar does not seem to notice, and leads her out of the meadows into the woods.

He stops by a tree, and gestures her forwards. Under a huge tree in the middle of a clearing, a large wooden box sits.

The daughter drops her basket and runs up to the box, opening it. It is empty.

She turns to the pedlar in anger to find that he is gone. Where he had stood, a man in thick furs floats, mist rising from his body, giving him a very frightening appearance.

At the house, the dog leaps up from the fireplace, barks three times and says;

"The bad girl shall be buried! The bad girl shall be buried! The bad girl shall be buried!"

Days pass, and the daughter does not return home. Anxious, the mother sends her husband and the dog to find her.

The man and dog wander through the meadows for several hours. As they pass through the meadows and near the woods, the dog barks three times and runs off into the trees, making the man run after it.

Under a huge tree in the middle of a clearing, a large wooden box sits. The dog runs up to it.

The man opens the box. Inside lays his step daughter, stripped of her furs, boots and hat, holding a series of shrivelled roots by the flowers.

As the man weeps, a pedlar hobbles into the clearing.

"My good fellow," the pedlar says, "May I offer my aid in delivering this child to her home?"

The man accepts the pedlar's aid. The pedlar is skinny, dressed in nothing but a pair of ragged trousers, a thin cloak, shoes with holes in them and a fur hat. Nonetheless, he heaves the box onto his shoulder and carries it, never complaining of the weight or of fatigue. The dog pads alongside the pedlar happily.

The mother weeps when the box is set down in her house. She turns on the pedlar, blaming him for her daughter's death.

"My good lady," the pedlar says, "I merely carried her."

"Poppycock!" the woman cries, "That is her hat thee wear upon thine head!"

"And it is thy step daughter's cloak I wear upon my back! And it is thy step daughter's boots I wear upon my feet! Care thee naught for that?"

The woman has no answer. The dog barks as the windows fly open, bringing in gusts of wind.

The wind dies, and the windows close. The pedlar is no where to be seen, and neither is Father Frost. The woman lies on the floor, dead.

The dog bars three times and says;

"The wicked woman is dead! The wicked woman is dead! The wicked woman is dead!"

And the girl and her father lived happily ever after, free of the cruel mother and selfish daughter. Their dog never barked, and neither the peldar nor Father Frost are seen again.

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pedlar; homeless person  
> Thee; you  
> Thy; your (when followed by a consonant), or you passive  
> Thine; your (when followed by a vowel)  
> Me is; I am. Yep, they said this in Old English  
> Naught; not  
> Pollycock; bullshit
> 
> Please note that I am not an expert in Old English, there are very likely to be many mistakes.
> 
> Based mostly on Russian fairy story Morozko meaning Jack Frost, Father Frost or King Frost. 'Kind and Unkind Girl' fairytales like this were quite prevailant in Europe, to teach a moral of 'be nice and good things will come your way, be a dick and you will die alone and miserable'.


	53. Flavio; 'Blond'

"Aw, that's really sad," Young-Soo coos, "Poor actual daughter."

"She shouldn't have been so nasty, then," Nikolai says plainly, "Nasty children won't get nice things."

"Wait... Are you saying I'm a nasty kid?" Young-Soo asks with a pout.  
"Well, yes," Nikolai answers, and Yao gasps in shock, "Immortals like us have all done terrible things."  
"But they weren't be when we did them! And we've done lots of good things too!" Young-Soo is on the verge of crying, "And we can't control what our people do! That's why you couldn't save Anastasia!"  
Tomakas and Lutz visibly wince. Nikolai's face drops into anger. Yao dashes across the room, planting himself between Nikolai and Young-Soo protectively, wok raised in warning.  
"Just get out," Nikolai says coldly, "All of you."  
Lutz holds the door open as Yao drags Young-Soo out, then herds Tomakas out before he shuts the door behind him. Tomakas can be heard yelling as Lutz forcibly drags him up the stairs.

* * *

  
Katyusha wakes up groggy and confused. Nikolai is still in a chair by the bed, half asleep himself, and jumps up as soon as Katyusha moves.  
"Don't strain yourself," he titters at her as she begins to sit up.  
"I'm fine," she mumbles, "Are we still in Germany?"  
"Yes, we are. And we're going to be throwing another party."  
"We are?"  
"Yes. And we're going to invite lots of other nations."  
"Is it going to be another dancing party?" Katyusha asks tiredly.  
"No, no," Nikolai says, "It's going to be a... film party. We're going to watch movies. And have popcorn."  
"Oh. That sounds fun."  
Nikolai helps Katyusha gently to her feet and upstairs. "Lutz," he says to the German, who snaps into an attentive salute, "Where is everybody?"  
"All the first players are in the bathroom," Tomakas answers before Tomakas gets the opportunity to, "And a bunch of second players are outside the bathroom trying to get in."  
"Look after Katyusha," Nikolai orders, and Lutz nods. Tomakas remains in the window seat, and just flips Nikolai the bird.  
Nikolai marches up the stairs. Outside the bathroom a series of 'second players' have gathered, trying to coax out the 'first players' inside. With a single bark from Nikolai, they scatter, and Nikolai hammers on the door.  
"Fuck off," is the response. Gilbert's response, judging by the accompanying aggressive tweet.  
"Get out here," Nikolai orders plainly.  
"Or else?" Gilbert retorts.  
"I only want to invite you all to a party."  
"What kind of party?"   
"A film party."  
"So definitely not any sort of murder party?"  
Nikolai pulls a confused face at the door. "No, definitely not a murder party."  
The door opens a crack. "Will there be popcorn?"  
"Of course."

 

“Will there be alcohol?”

“Of course.”  
"I'm sold!" The door opens fully and Gilbert flies out, followed by a happily chirping Gilbird.  
Natalya pads out after him. "I told him to hide in the basement. He wouldn't listen."  
"Then he wonders how he ended up losing nation status," Lily comments from down the hall.  
Natalya stares at Lily for a few seconds before she nods, turns, and walks stiffly away to the stairs.

* * *

  
Emilio, representative of ‘second player’ Iceland, sits with Loki, representative of ‘second player’ Norway, trying to get his 'older brother' to stop crying. Sadiq sits with Katyusha, having snuggled her up in a blanket. Lily is with Natalya, François and Tonio are side by side with Oliver and Flávio practically in their laps, and Herkales is finally awake chatting about cute cats with Yao, Young-Soo and Kuro, Al knocked out in a pool of his own blood behind him.  Gilbert, on the floor with Liz and Feliks, gives Nikolai a suspicious glare as the Russian enters.  
"This is all weirdly generous of you," he growls, "What's the catch?"  
"No catch," Nikolai says, "Cross my heart and hope to die."  
"I can easily arrange that," Gilbert says, and Gilbird tweets aggressively.  
Nikolai ignores him, instead flicking through Ludwig's address book until he finds the name 'Lars de Jong' with the word 'Holland' in capital letters at the end of his address.  
"Hello?" Lars answers.  
"Hello!" Nikolai greets, tone friendly, "I am just calling with a party invitation~"  
"Braginski?" Lars checks the username on his phone, "Why are you in Germany?"  
"For the party~"  
"Why are you inviting people to the party?"  
"The Bielschmidts are busy inviting other people to the party~"  
"Really?"  
".... Just shut the fuck up and get over here for the party~"  
"I'm not interested in coming to a party."  
"It's a film party~"  
"I can watch films at home."  
"There will be popcorn~"  
"I can eat popcorn at home."  
"The popcorn is free~"  
"Travel isn't."  
Nikolai sighs. "There will also be alcohol."  
"I can drink alcohol at home."  
"Or you could drink alcohol in Germany~ Where it's cheaper~"  
"Or I could stay at home. Which is both cheaper and less effort."  
"What the fuck is your problem?" Nikolai growls, and Matt face palms at his boss's impatience.  
"I don't trust you," Lars answers plainly.  
"Why?" Nikolai answers sharply.  
"I'm not a trusting person, and you are not a trustworthy person."  
"That leaves us with a bit of a predicament."  
"Glad we understand each other," Lars says bluntly, and before Nikolai can respond the Dutchman hangs up the phone.  
"Rude." Nikolai puts the phone down with a glare. "I would have thought he would jump on the promise of free food and alcohol."  
Flávio sighs from next to Matt. "He always has been a cheapskate."  
"You've got to wonder how he lives," Nikolai muses aloud.  
"Poorly." Flávio responds.  
"You're fucking worse than Lutz," Matt growls.


	54. Lars; 'Crowned with laurel'

Lars answers the door with a frown, pipe hanging from his mouth smoking something sweet-smelling. "Russia? What are you doing here? I literally just got off the phone with you."

"I'm just walking around," Nikolai says innocently.

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Didn't think you would."

"Then why did you say it? You're just wasting both our times," Lars scolds, leaning against his door frame.

"I'm here for… a friendly chat," Nikolai says.

"And by 'friendly' you don't mean 'friendly' at all."

"No, but it's friendly by my usual standards."

"That's because you're fucked up."

"I won't argue with you on that one," Nikolai chuckles, and Lars raises an eyebrow at him. "May I come in?"

"No," Lars says plainly.

"Rude. What's the point in a big house if you don't let anyone into it?"

"Plenty of space. Doesn't get cluttered. Nice neighbourhood. I like it, and I don't need constant noise for it to pleasant."

"It's great you can afford something as nice as this, though," Nikolai says, "Especially after such an impoverished childhood. And surrounded by rich nations, must have been so difficult."

"Stating the obvious," Lars grunts, "Next you'll be saying I grow tulips and smoke weed."

Nikolai laughs.

"Would you get to your point already?" Lars groans, "I was watching Deal or No Deal."

"Alright. The point is that I'm taking over the world and require your allegiance."

Lars stares at him for a few seconds, then giggles. "And I thought  _I_  was tripping."

"You'll be crying if anything happened to your sister."

The laugh drops. "Anything happens to Bella and war will be declared. Besides, she's been wandering around down South recently, you won't find her."

"Spain, I'd imagine," Nikolai says, "I've heard that he and Romano have gone missing," he says innocently.

"Yeah," Lars responds, eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with you, would it?"

"Not  _me_ , no," Nikolai defends, "It was America."

"Uh-huh. And did America kidnap Søren too?"

"No, Søren hasn't been kidnapped. He's in the General's palace, looking for his family."

"So you kidnapped his family?"

"No! The General did! Really, Lars, is your opinion of me so low?"

"Yes."

"Rude."

* * *

Nikolai, after Lars got bored of semi-entertaining him and slammed the door in his face, wanders up to Bella's front door. Her house is much grander and flashier then her brother's. Her front garden is full of Lar's tulips, and Lar's front garden is full of Bella's poppies. With a little magic focus and a deep stare at these poppies, Nikolai had been able to sense Bella in France, heading north with a basket of tomatoes.

While he waits, Nikolai stands on the porch and checks his phone to find an onslaught of texts from Matt bitching about film choice. It seems that Katyusha had insisted on putting on Titanic, then because everyone was crying Lutz had put YouTuber comedy film Kartoffelsalat on, then because several people were thoroughly bored by the terrible humour Gilbert is starting a Disney film marathon, starting with Frozen and moving on to Treasure Planet. Matt seems to have hated every single film so far.

Nikolai laughs, sends a message of "Calm down, just get some ice cream and shut up."

Bella comes wandering up her front path, basket of tomatoes balanced on her hip. She pauses at the sight of a stranger on her porch, but relaxes as she recognises the Russian's face. "Braginski! You scared me!"

"Do you need any help?" Nikolai offers.

"No, I've carried heavier baskets than this," Bella chirps, pulling her keys from her pocket, "I just harvested them from Antonio's garden, he hates the thought of tomatoes going to waste. Probably the only thing that can kill his happiness."

Nikolai hums.

"I need to go harvest some tomatoes from Lovino's garden too, so whatever you need it'll want to be quick."

"I only wanted to talk," Nikolai says, "I can walk with you."

"Really?" Bella says, "You'll want lighter clothes, then, it's warm down south."

As Bella heads into her house, Nikolai casts a quick charm over his clothes. The heavy coat vanishes, leaving him in just his shirt and trousers. His scarf he shrinks, begrudgingly, until it becomes a red bandana, the fixes tight and slightly more noticeable.

Bella blinks in shock, when she sees his changed clothes. "Sorry, I thought… oh whatever. We can get you some lighter shoes and a hat at a market on the way or something."

Nikolai doesn't laugh at her confusion, but follows her merrily. "It's very kind of you to look after their gardens for them."

"I wasn't expecting to," Bella laughs, "They just vanished! But they can't be coming back from wherever they are to messy gardens can they?"

"No, I suppose they can't."

Bella gives Nikolai the side-eye, looking like a shorter, pipe-less version of her brother, "Do you know anything about where Antonio and Lovino have gone?"

"Something like that," Nikolai answers vaguely.

"That's not an answer. You either do know something or you don't."

"Fine then, I  _do_  know something."

"Alright, that's a start. Do you know where Antonio and Lovino are?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Where are they?"

"No."

"That wasn't a closed question."

"Fine; they're in Germany."

"Oh, Lovi isn't harassing Ludwig again, is he?"

"Not Lovi, not Ludwig. Flavio and Lutz."

"What?"

Nikolai sighs, stopping. "Look at me. I am the Russia you are used to."

"Really? I thought you'd just dyed your hair. Going for a new look, you know?"

"No. I am Nikolai. Ivan's second player counterpart. I give less fucks about friendship than I do about Americans, and would rather murder than admit failure."

Bella stares at him. "On anyone else, they would be the  _weirdest_  comparisons."

"You are not afraid," Nikolai comments.

"Of course not. The second players are our opposites, so as I understand it Ivan tries to be nice but is actually evil, so you try to be evil but are are actually nice."

"Um…. No."

"But that makes logical sense."

"No…"

"Aw, you can't even make an argument," Bella coos, "Bless your heart!"

Nikolai slaps her sharply across the face, "Your point is both incorrect and invalid."

"Slapping me is not going to get you anywhere!" Bella snaps, rubbing her abused cheek, "It's just childish!"

"That's true. But Spain and Romano are second player, and there is nothing you can do about it."

"Are you sure about that," Bella pushes open the gate to Lovino's garden.

"Yes."

"What causes the changeover?"

"Strong emotions and a little bit of magic. Or just a lot of magic. Or death."

"That all sounds confusing," Bella says, picking tomatoes merrily, "But I don't really understand magic anyway. But I  _do_  know that nothing makes Antonio happier then munching through a basket of tomatoes, and nothing makes Lovino angrier than Antonio eating all the tomatoes. And I reckon joy and anger are pretty strong emotions, aren't they?"

"But how do you know Tonio and Flavio like tomatoes?"

"Do you like vodka?"

"Yes."

"Then Tonio and Flavio will probably still like tomatoes. Now are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?"

Nikolai sighs, then stoops to pick tomatoes.

"See you are nice," Bella chirps.

"No, I'm not."

Bella giggles. "Add a curl and a pout and you'll look just like Lovino."

"You need to stop."

"You need to stop trying to convince me that you're evil," Bella flicks Nikolai's nose playfully as he drops a vine of tomatoes into the basket.

Nikolai sighs deeply. With a flick of his wrist, all the ripe tomatoes leap across the field into the basket, then the basket vanishes, teleporting to the other universe. He grabs Bella by the throat and teleports to Holland, fingers digging into Bella's neck, grip cutting off her breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deal or no deal (Miljoenenjacht) originally aired in Hollad before it became popilar worldwide  
> Kartoffelsalat (Potato salad) is a comodey produced by German YouTubers. It's really bad.  
> Matt's more of a creepy/horror kind of guy  
> Bella gives no shits about people's negative traits. She's a hella chill lady  
> Nikolai's magic knows no bounds. He's has several centuries general practice, and over 100 years practicing with the amount of power he has now


	55. Bella; 'Beautiful prayer'

Nikolai lands outside Lars' door again, throwing Bella down. He hammers loudly on the door as Bella chokes in air.

"Who is it?" Lars shouts from behind the the door.

"It's me again," Nikolai answers, Bella still too breathless to speak, "And I've brought your  _darling_  sister with me!" He grabs her again, forcing her to stand again.

The door flies open. "Why do you have Bella?"

Nikolai, staring Lars in the eye, unsheathes Kuro's katana from his belt. Having sat useless so close to someone regularly using magic, the blade is crackling with Russian black magic, giving off an eerie silver glow as Nikoli holds it up, glinting in the afternoon sun. He drags Bella closer to him and twirls the blade in before driving down, straight into Bella's still choking chest.

Lars yells as Nikolai drops her, holding the katana steady as Bella slides down it, widening the wound. The glow fades, first at the hilt then down, the magic filling Bella's body, freezing her heart instantly.

"Now, the choice is yours," Nikolai says darkly, putting his foot on Bella's shoulder as Lars tries to pull her away, "Either I leave and Bella remains comatose until she dies and becomes her second player. Or, you pledge your allegiance, and I bring Bella back unharmed."

"Leave," Lars says plainly.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Damn sure."

"She'll die."

"I'd rather take my chances than surrender to you."

Nikolai steps off Bella, and Lars scoops her up hurriedly, carrying her into the house and slamming the door.

Taking his phone out, Nikolai finds Matt begrudgingly admitting that Big Hero Six and Hunchback of Notre Dame aren't  _bad_. But now they've moved on to The Minions Movie, and he  _hates_  it. Then a few strange, out of character messages proclaiming lewd acts and an adoration of America, then an apology and explanation that Al had stolen his phone.

Nikolai rolls his eyes at the idiocy of the North American brothers, before focusing on himself. He hasn't turned invisible for almost ninety years, when he was teaching Matt to master the ability he had been given. It takes him a minute, but he disappears and materialises through the door, following Lars as he takes Bella upstairs.

He lays Bella down on her bed, in a room he's kept for since they were children full of painted poppies and rag dolls in a range of pretty dresses. Nikolai has to allow himself to materialise again as Lars dashes out again. Nikolai wanders around the room, angrily teleporting all the dolls in yellow dresses to Germany and sends Matt a message to destroy them.

Lars dashes back into the room, a large, varied first aid kit in his arms. Nikolai has to fight the urge to laugh out loud; a first aid kit isn't going to help someone in a magic-induced coma. Lars unfastens Bella's shirt. The wound is just above her bra, piercing her sternum.

With a curse, Lars pulls out his phone and dials. Nikolai already has his phone in his hand and quickly forms a soundproof bubble around himself, expecting his phone to go off as Lars surrenders to him. But his phone remains silents, and Nikolai lets the bubble drop as Lars starts talking down the phone.

"Søren?" Lars says, making it conveniently clear who he's calling, "Søren I need your help... Søren calm down! Yes, and I need to save my sister! Calm down! I know where my sister is; help me and I'll help you! Søren! Søren... Søren, I know you've got the cross Luka gave you... yes, I know it's only for emergencies, but this is sort of an emergency... please Søren!"

Lars sinks down onto the floor as he hangs up the phone, and takes a deep breath.

* * *

Søren takes just over an hour to arrive. In the meantime, Lars manages to stop the blood flowing from the wound in Bella's chest and bandages it with a cotton pad and medical tape. He has to change it twice before Søren arrives.

When he does arrive, Søren is a ghost of the man he was. Fear for has family and several days wandering the vast white emptiness of the North has mentally fucked the man up. He stares around blankly, hands and jaw trembling, barely speaking. He looks alarmingly like Matthias, his second player counterpart in Nikolai's universe, but better built and rosier.

Søren checks Bella's wound as Lars changes the dressing on it yet again. He stitches it up gently, Lars holding on to Bella's hand as she occasionally groans in pain, Nikolai waking her up just enough for her to feel the needle in her skin then letting her fall back into her coma. After he cuts the thread, Søren unbuttons the top of his shirt and unclasps his cross necklace. He fastens it gently around Bella's neck before he wanders off again.

Lars remains on Bella's bed as Søren stands up, scanning the room again. His gaze slides over Nikolai, still invisible, and settles on the dolls. "I thought Bella has more dolls than that."

Lars doesn't respond, or even look at the dolls. Søren slips out the door and, deciding he won't see any development in Lars' or Bella's behaviour for a while, Nikolai follows him. Søren heads down to the kitchen and begins to fiddle with Lars' waffle maker, a Christmas gift from Antonio a few years ago, used often and somehow kept ridiculously clean.

Nikolai watches, confused yet slightly amused, as Søren gathers up eggs, flour, milk, sugar and baking powder, and mixes them with vegetable oil into a batter, the waffle iron heating up next to him. Every now and then he scratches at the back of his neck where the chain with his cross ought to be, this being the first time he's taken it off in fuck knows how long.

Within half an hour, a pile of pancakes has developed on the kitchen table, but Søren continues to make more. No one is coming to collect them. No one is coming to eat them. Nikolai is not sure where Søren is getting the ingredients from anymore. The waffle pile continues to grow.

Becoming impatient, Nikolai focuses on Søren, trying to read Søren's mind. Nothing happens, and Nikolai drops his invisibility in favour of getting into Søren's head.

A soft green glow develops around Søren. He doesn't seem to notice, but Nikolai recognises it. It's Norwegian magic, protecting Søren even several centuries after it had been given to him.

Nikolai gives in, re-turning invisible, pulling up another soundproof bubble and pulls out his phone. He rings the German house phone, having to wait only two rings before Matt answers; "Hey, Boss."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Caller recognition. Even though it called you Ivan. How's world domination going?"

"I'm sure you already know, with that memory of yours.

Matt chuckles. "I'll get Loki, shall I?"

The phone clatters about for several seconds before Loki answers, "Hello?" their voice is raspy, like they has just been crying.

"I need you to tell me about this magic protecting Denmark," Nikolai says firmly.

"It's the cross he wears," Loki explains, "It's charmed to protect Søren from outside magic. Lukas was determined to protect him." Loki sobs.

"He's not wearing the cross, though."

"The magic won't transfer straight away, it's been with Søren for too long. Or more accurately, the magic is a troll magic, and the cross was actually just to tell the trolls who to protect. Now they can recognise Søren, they won't bother trying to protect anyone else. Søren would have to transfer the troll's protection to Bella, but as I doubt he remembers how to."

"I'm going to kill the troll."

"You can't kill the troll."

"I'm going to kill the troll."

"You can't just  _kill_  the troll."

"I'm going to kill the troll."

"You can transfer the troll. Then you can attack Søren, turn him into Matthias, then bring him here to me~"

"Fine," Nikolai hangs up. He drops the sound bubble and approaches Søren again.

The green glow reappears, stronger. It rises and shapes, forming the torso of a troll hovering over Søren, leering over Nikolai, growling.

Nikolai retreats wisely. He wasn't expecting that. Søren, turns around, having heard a noise. The troll vanishes, and after scanning the kitchen Søren returns to making waffles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soren is mentally traumatised. He's lost his family then spent several days wandering the polar desert- he's not in great mental shape.  
> Loki understands Norweigan magic, even if he doesn't perform it anymore.  
> The Norweigan magic will not be transferring to Bella.


	56. Emil; 'Excellent'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood warning, food warning

Nikolai tries to sneak up on Søren again. The troll appears, quicker this time, watching Nikolai carefully. Nikolai unsheathes his katana again, and swings it up, aiming for the troll's head. Before the blade even making contact, the troll swats Nikolai away, sending him flying into the wall, breaking all his currently flowing magic.

Søren turns around quickly, shocked, then relaxes. "Do you want some waffles?"

Nikolai looks around, confused, until he realises Søren is talking to him. Meaning he is no longer invisible. "I'm alright."

"Are you sure? There's plenty."

"I'm sure. Why are you here?"

"To make waffles. Want some?"

"Why are you making waffles?"

"What else to Belgians eat?"

"Chocolate?"

Søren stares at the waffle stack. "You've got a point. I should make chocolate waffles."

"That is not what I was saying," Nikolai deadpans, "What I mean to say is that it's pointless. Bella isn't going to wake up."

"But I made waffles." Søren looks crestfallen.

Nikolai, patience lost, raises his hand to slap Søren across the face. The troll rises, swatting him away again. Søren stares, confused, as Nikolai seems to fly across the room for no reason.

"God fucking dammit," Nikolai growls.

"You look like you need some waffles," Søren says gently.

"No, I need to get rid of that troll of yours."

"Troll? You're delirious," Søren drags Nikolai into a chair, "You need to eat. Have some waffles."

"No. Bella is comatose because of me, and you can't save her."

"She was responding when I stitched her up. Why would she not recover? It's only a knife wound."

"No. There is magic involved. She will die and wake up as her second player."

"That sounds bad," Søren puts a plate of waffles in front of Nikolai.

"I can stop that. At a price."

"The price being?" Søren asks, then manages a small laugh, "I sound like Lars."

"Yes, you do. The price is you coming back to Germany with me."

"What's in Germany?"

"Your family."

Søren blinks in surprise. "Deal. Fucking  _deal_."

Nikolai gets up, heading straight upstairs. With a whine of "You didn't even  _touch_  your waffles," Søren follows him. Nikolai barges into Bella's room, making Lars jump.

"Fuck off," Lars says plainly.

"I just want to check on your sister," Nikolai says innocently.

"Short answer; no."

"What's the long answer?" Søren asks.

"Fuck no."

"I know magic much better than either of you," Nikolai says plainly.

"There's no magic involved," Lars snaps, "It's a blade wound."

"The blade was infected with magic."

"Bullshit."

"It was. It can't do any harm to let me look though, can it?"

"Yes. I don't trust you by any stretch of the word."

"But you trust Søren?"

"Yes."

Nikolai sighs. "You can stay here. Nothing inappropriate is going to happen, you can watch, and I will back off as soon as you say."

Lars narrows his eyes, but moves begrudgingly out of the way. Nikolai peels the cotton pad away. The wound is dark, almost black in colour.

"It's slightly worse than I thought," Nikolai muses aloud.

"Oh, fuck," Lars says.

"I can deal with it. It's just going to be a bigger operation that I thought."

" _Operation_?! You can't conduct an  _operation_ ; you're not a doctor!"

"Do you want me to help her or not?"

Lars sighs. "Fine. Fine."

Nikolai hovers a hand over Bella, several inches above the wound where Lars can still see it, and focuses. The stitches tear out and the wound opens. Thick black goo rises, blood dripping off the vaguely spherical lumps, melting into Nikolai's palm. Bella groans in pain, convulsing. Lars clings tightly to her hand, Søren watching from the doorway. Bella screams aloud as a particularly large clump forces its way out of the wound.

"It's done," Nikolai says as the last of the magic recedes into his hand.

Søren dashes in, needle and thread already prepared. He sews the wound up quickly, and covers it with a pad and tape, while Lars pulls out one of Bella's shirt from the dresser. Søren takes his necklace back.

Bella dressed again, Nikolai snaps his fingers in front of her face. She grunts, twitches, and blurts awake with a gasp and a yell of pain.

"Keep her on strong painkillers," Nikolai orders. "I'm sure you have plenty of those. Come along, Søren."

Søren follows quietly, waving goodbye to Lars and Bella, the latter confused and bewildered.

"Wait!" he yells as Nikolai reaches the front door. He runs to the back of the house and clatters around in the kitchen.

Nikolai sighs as he re-emerges with a tupperware box full of waffles.


	57. The New Russian Empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for drug use and alcoholism

Nikolai drags Søren into the Berlin house. Matt dashes up to them, seizes the tupperware box of waffles, and runs off again. Nikolai sighs. Søren is just confused.

"Søren?" Loki peers around a doorway, "Is that you?"

"Lukas?" Søren stares at Loki dumbly as the Norwegian steps out, dressed in a copy of Lukas' blue sailor suit.

Loki sends Nikolai a glare over Søren's shoulder as he embraces them, a warning not to say a word about their change. Or that they is literally taking advantage of Søren's delirium.

Nikolai just rolls his eyes. Loki has to be one of the clingiest people he knows, but he's not even going to bother trying to crowbar the pair apart. And deities help anyone who does try.

He leaves them to it, heading down into the basement, Raivis squeaking out of his way at the bottom of the stairs. Katyusha is still in Gilbert's bed, sat upright, a bowl of fresh soup in front of her.

"Are you alright?" he asks gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"A little tired," Katyusha answers, "But I think I'll be fine. But what about everyone else?"

"They're fine," Nikolai says, "Søren is here too, now. All the Nordics are."

"What about Natalya? And Sadiq?"

"They're fine too." He hasn't truthfully checked, but Matt hasn't reported anything, so it must be fine.

Katyusha sighs with relief. "And the film night?"

"I only just got back from Holland, so I don't know. There's been a lot of Disney films though."

"Oh, I missed those. I came back to bed during some strange German film."

Nikolai snorts a half-laugh. "Do you want to stay here or rejoin the film party?"

"It's still going? No, I'm alright, I think I'd rather stay here," Katyusha says warmly. "You enjoy the party though, da?"

Nikolai reciprocates her bright smile, even if it is a little forced. He hasn't sat to watch films in a long time, especially not bloody  _Disney_  films.

* * *

Matt is in Nikolai's armchair, only half-watching Brother Bear as it plays. He jumps out when Nikolai appears, sitting on the floor instead, tupperware box of waffles in his lap. Nikolai slumps into his chair, stealing one of the waffles.

"No change in the film schedule?" he asks.

"Nope," Matt answers.

"Are you bored out of your mind?"

"Yep."

"Are you stoned?"

"Yep."

Nikolai sighs. "You at least waited until I got back, right?"

"Nope."

"For fuck's sake, Matt."

Matt just takes a large bite of his waffle. He's too high to care.

Nikolai sighs deeply again. The only thing more worrying than Matt smoking on the job is the fact that Matt is still the most trustworthy person in the house, off his face on weed.

"I need to go somewhere," he says, getting up quickly.

"Again?" Matt says, frowning, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he drags Matt up and sits him back in the armchair, "But I won't be long. Not even an hour. No more smoking-"

Matt whines.

"I expect you to be sober by the time I get back," Nikolai says sharply, killing the whine.

He heads to Ludwig's office, breaking into the German's emergency money stash.

* * *

An hour later, Nikolai and Matt are sitting on the floor opposite each other in a large circle of nations. In front of each nation sits a shot glass full of vodka, an open bottle sitting next to both Nikolai and Matt. In a bottomless pocket in Nikolai's coat are several small bottles of absinthe, a spare vodka bottle and a couple of packs of strong German beers.

The nations pick up their shot glasses, hold it up in a silent toast, and neck it. Seamus chokes. The bottles are handed around, surprisingly mature, and the shot glasses refilled.

Pick up, silent toast, neck.

Nikolai's phone beeps. He checks it as the vodka bottles are handed around again.

The shot glasses are raised again, and Nikolai clears his throat. "I have an announcement to make. Holland and Belgium are now our allies."

"To Holland and Belgium!" Al cheers. And the group grunt toasts in their languages and neck their drinks.

Twice more the bottles are passed around.

Seamus hiccups. "No, no," the Irishman shakes his head, trying to climb to his feet, "I give up."

Oliver has to lead him away, Lutz and Søren scooting closer together to fill the gap.

Matt picks up the vodka bottle to pass across to Taisto, but Nikolai sends him a wink across the group. He digs into his pocket, pulling out absinth after absinthe, passing them around.

Emilio stares at the little bottle and shakes his head, putting it down and standing up, "Nope, not doing absinthe."

Raivis steals the Icelandic representative's bottle and takes a double shot alongside the rest of the group. Disclaimer; don't do this. I will not be held responsible for any alcohol poisoning you get.

Nikolai sends Matt a nod and the bottle are passed around again. Kuro is shaking badly, spilling the vodka onto the carpet. Matt lights a cigarette as he waits.

Pick up, silent toast, neck.

Taisto sways, slurring for Susan. The Swede coos over him, and Søren giggles at the pair, Loki in his lap. Søren doesn't seem to realise that Taisto and Susan are Tino and Berwald's second players, and no one is daring enlighten him.

Refill, toast, neck. Taisto passes out, Susan dragging him away.

Refill, toast, neck. Søren collapses into Loki. Chuckie and Orlander, Sealand and Ladonia respectively, have to help them drag him away.

Refill, toast, neck. Al, green faced, jumps up and runs away.

Refill, toast, neck. Al can be heard throwing up. Sophie groans in disgust.

Another round of absinthe. Raivis necks the bottle before the toast and gets up, stumbling away, mumbling his forfeit.

Another round of vodka shots. Lutz falls backwards. Alistair, Dylan and Gilbert share a look and surrender.

Refill, toast, neck. Lutz snores loudly. Flavio grabs Tonio and Lorenzo by the ears, dragging them away before they give themselves alcohol poisoning.

Refill. Kuro drops the vodka and collapses. Nikolai and Matt toast to each other across the room, and neck their shots.

* * *

Matt lays over the couch, Cannibal Holocaust playing on the television. A joint hangs from one hand, a bottle of German beer from Nikolai's bottomless pocket is clasped in the other, a stack of Oliver's biscuits on the table. Nikolai sits sprawled in his armchair, legs casually over the chair arm, a currently unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth and the bottle of vodka in his hand. The remaining bottles of absinthe, empty, litter the floor. Nikolai's coat is hung on the back of his chair, the spare bottle of vodka on the floor next to him, the undrunk beer next to Matt.

"Is this it?" Matt asks, "Are we done? All is one with Mother Russia?"

"I think so," Nikolai says, "There was no one else in the plan?"

"Nope. According to see my 'future seeing powers'," Matt laughs, "The rest of the nations just… surrender before being attacked. You're the wealthiest, most powerful and strongest. It'd be suicide to fight you."

"Then yes, it is clearly the end."

Matt takes a long drag of his joint. "To the New Russian Empire," he raises his beer.

Nikolai leans across to clink their bottles together. They drink. All is one with Mother Russia, and the new world leader snaps his fingers, a flame lighting on the the pad of his thumb. He lights his cigarette, and the smoke rises above his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end
> 
>  
> 
> No, not really. It's the end of the RP with Redd Scarf. After this, there's the collapse of the New Russian Empire and what happens after it, and the nuclear war that devastated the 'other universe', then what happens after the '2ps' cross back over.
> 
> We're aware we didn't cover every country ever, but there's a lot of them so you'll have to forgive us. We're also aware that we took over zero African, West Asian, South American or Oceanic countries, but our main focuses were the USSR and then expanding out through Europe. Also, we were teenagers with very white, Western educations and so know very little about anything outside of Europe and North America beyond gross overgeneralisations.


	58. Roman; 'Man of Rome'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for death at the end

_The 'other' universe_

Early morning. Yong-Su stands in the centre of the village community with Matt's rifle, Yang only a few yards away from him. He aims up in the air and shoots twice, jolting anyone asleep awake as he shouts; "Operation Journal is complete! Operation Journal is complete!"

Ivan comes running out of the house he has been sharing with Yang and Yong-Su. He has barely slept, barely eaten, almost making himself sick worrying about his counterpart running loose in his universe. He can hardly get a word out of any of the second player residents about his counterpart, coming to the conclusion that his counterpart must be awful and the other second players assume that he is the same. The crossed-over first players have told him terrible things of cut-out hearts, limbs ground under boots, and a sick, childish grin as their vision had faded to black.

"Please," he begs, "Tell me what Operation Journal  _is_." He clutches Yang's arm, only to be slapped away.

"What does it matter?" Yong-Su asks in his usual, bored manner, "It's finished. There's no need for me to explain it to you."

"Because me being here is what  _started_  it!"

"Correct. And now it has ended."

Village residents, both first and second player, have begun milling out of the houses, gathering around. The second players are sullen, the first players are confused.

"When does the rift close?" Natasha asks loudly.

"In about a year," Young-Su answers. "Well, no, about fifty years if our assumptions are correct, but we'll stop using it in about a year."

"The rift?" Ivan asks.

"The bridge between our universes," Yang answers, "It's been open about fifty years already. We had to experiment a lot with it, and it all went horribly wrong at first, ended up in completely the wrong… place."

"How dare you, Korea is the best place to be," Yong-Su says sharply.

"Not when you're trying to get to Germany, it isn't," Yang says plainly, "If you're trying to get to  _Germany_  and end up in  _Korea_ , you've missed by an awful lot."

Yong-Su grins. It's childish and wonderful and looks so much like Young-Soo's.

* * *

As the crowd disperses, Ivan spots Yekaterina and follows after her quickly. Yekaterina has actively avoided him, running away, hiding from him and slamming doors in his face.

Yekaterina lives in a bungalow opposite the Starting House with Siddeek. Again, she tries to slam the door in Ivan's face but he manages to get his boot in the door, hissing with pain as Yekaterina tries to forcibly close the door before she gives in.

"What do you want?" she asks sharply.

"Do you know what Operation Journal is?" he asks.

Yekaterina sighs. "No. I've barely spoken to him for a century."

"A hundred and twenty years!" Siddeek yells from within the bungalow.

"Fine, a hundred and twenty years."

"That's a really long time," Ivan says dumbly, shocked.

"It took him ten years to realise I didn't want to see him anymore. I told him I hated him everyday and he still came back the same time next day, talking like nothing had happened."

"You hate him?!"

"Yes."

"But he's your brother!"

"Doesn't mean I'm obliged to love him," Yekaterina says plainly, "He's done some dreadful things, and is right now doing dreadful things. Why the fuck should I love him any way?"

Ivan stares at her, tears welling in his eyes. "What did he do?"

"He caused this," she waves around the village, "He started the war that destroyed our world, and he's doing it in your world. Then when we came together like this, he tortured anyone who tried to stop him being the leader. Or went against him. Or broke any of his rules. The only ones he never hurt were myself, Natasha and Matt."

"At least he still loves you."

"Sure, whatever. Doesn't change the fact he literally tortured and murdered others. No matter how nice he is to me, I don't think I will ever be able to forgive him for that."

Ivan breathes deeply, almost crying. "So why do you hate  _me_?"

"Because you are him."

"I'm not. I would never be so cruel."

"You would. You have been. You will be again. You would in his position. I know you would. Now fuck off."

She shoves Ivan away from the door and slams it in his face. She can hear Ivan crying through the door, and as much as it pains her she doesn't open it again until he's gone.

* * *

Lillya chews her cereal slowly. It's mostly oats with UHT cereal. She hadn't even been aware UHT milk could last literally two hundred years, a fire and multiple nearby nuclear explosions, so she's pretty impressed by these cardboard cartons of milk. Apparently, Basch had had safety bunkers all over the place, not just in Switzerland, full of tins and cartons and sealed food. Unfortunately, the map with all the bunkers marked on was destroyed in the fire. Lillya can't help thinking it sounds a lot like something Vash would do.

Despite the fact there is never a shortage of food, Lillya has been losing weight, Natasha's dresses lent to her now loose when they used to be tight on her arms and stomach. She doesn't complain though. Natasha's dresses are quite cute, decorated with lace and ribbons. She's the only one to wear decorated clothes like this, mostly because Yekaterina makes them for her.

"Natasha?" Lillya says quietly. The Belarusian looks up at her, waiting silently for the following question. "Most of the military likes in the bunker. So why does Lily live here?"

Len and Batukhan, Vietnam and Mongolia respectively, live in the bunker with the rest of the military. A few other girls, African nations mostly, live there too, mixed in with the male soldier nations, so it's clearly not a matter of separating sexes.

"She's my girlfriend," Natasha answers bluntly.

Lillya chokes on a mouthful of milk. She hadn't been expecting that response.

Natasha gives a small laugh. "I'm surprised you hadn't realised already."

"I just…" Lillya splutters, "It never crossed my mind!"

"It surprised everyone when we started dating," Natasha says, smiling, "Nikolai and Basch were constantly glaring at us. It's probably the only time I've ever really been scared of Basch,"

"Basch isn't scary, he's just defensive!"

"Yes. And had guns. Lots of them."

Lillya laughs. Natasha takes the empty cereal bowls over to the sink rinsing them.

It takes a few seconds for Lillya to realise that she's been talking about Vash, not Basch. It takes a few seconds more for her to realise that Natasha had agreed. Maybe Vash and Basch were pretty similar before Basch's breakdown.

That's quite a scary thought.

* * *

Ludwig stands in front of the gravestone. There are no words on it, just a series of symbols, all the awards Gilbert had won over his long lifetime, carved into the stone. Ludwig is able to match almost all of the symbols to all of the medals his own brother won, except for the final two. The last two, a German bravery award and a Soviet journalist award, don't match Gilbert.

It feels strange to not be allowed into his own house. Well, basically in his own house. He's a little uneasy in the military bunker, the claustrophobia and brown uniforms bringing up uncomfortable memories. He's stayed in the Residency, sharing the room Feliciano was assigned. Lovino wasn't happy when he found out about it, but gave up his bitching pretty quickly. Mostly because Yong-Su had been swinging a cane with dark stains in the wood from his hand, and no one wanted to darken those stains. Ludwig pities whoever that cane has been used on to such an extent.

Feliciano's arms wraps around one of Ludwig's. He's been less happy, sleeping less and chatting less, and Ludwig's beginning to worry about him. This is something he's pretty sure Gilbert would know how to rectify. A miserable Feliciano is something that needs an Awesome Plan™ to cheer up, but he's not here and Ludwig has no idea what to do.

"Luddy, let's go," Feliciano mumbles, pulling on Ludwig's arm gently.

"When Holy Rome died," Ludwig says, and Feliciano freezes, "Were you sad?"

Feliciano takes a deep breath. "I didn't believe it at first. It took a long time to come to terms with it, but when I did I was very sad. Death is a sad thing. But it happened, and even though it still makes me pretty sad I have to move on. It's something we just have to get used to as immortals."

"Do you think our Gilbert's going to die?"

"I don't know. But whether he does or he doesn't, we can't do anything about it. We'll miss him, we'll be sad, but that just means we love him." Feliciano edges closer to Ludwig, wrapping his arms around his torso and hugging him tightly. "Do you want me to tell you something Gilbert told me when Francis told me Roman had died?"

"What?"

"God only takes the best people to be his angels. The more his death hurts us, the more beautiful an angel he'll become. It's strange, and it's cruel, but we all need reminding of our mortality sometimes."

"That's a strangely mature thing for Gilbert to say."

"I know. I thought so too. But he did. And I never forgot it."

Ludwig brushes his lips against Feliciano's crown, and lets Feliciano gently pull him away from the gravestone. Six feet beneath them, a skeleton lies in a black uniform, hands wrapped around the hilt of a sword on his chest, his Iron Cross having fallen under his collarbones as his mortal skin had rotted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert's medals and what he said to Feli will be relevant later  
> UHT milk is basically milk in a carton that keeps ridiculously well.


	59. Natasha; 'Birth (of Christ)'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; some stuff mentioned is now considered child abuse. So child abuse warning.

Within a year of the takeover, uprisings begin. The first is in Izmir, Turkey. Sadiq is almost completely indistinguishable among the other hooded rioters, face hidden in darkness, but the nations know he's there. Katyusha locks herself in one of the guest rooms and cries.

A lot of nations are surprised when Ukraine, Estonia and Latvia join the riots within six months of the first Turkish riots. Matt isn't. Nikolai refuses to speak for several days.

Gilbert spends his time sat on the floor of his living room, journal in his lap, watching the riot footage on the news. He occasionally jots things down, but mostly stares at the screen, transfixed. He, Herkales and Katyusha are the only ones who can recognise Sadiq. Katyusha because she's there with him. Herkales because he's familiar with Sadiq. Gilbert because he's familiar with the revolution, the break away from the Eastern regime.

* * *

Al is severely disappointed to open the cupboard he's dubbed "Kuro's closet" to find Kiku, bloody and frightened. Yao is relieved, fussing over Kiku with clean clothes and hot food. Kiku apologises profusely to Young-Soo, who just brushes it off with a laugh.

Without a military leader to fight and maim, Al spends his time with Matt and Nikolai, bugging and fussing and meddling, winding Nikolai up and leaving Matt to play auspistice, already well practiced at nipping their growing fights in the bud or crowbarring himself into physical fights to wrench them apart. Alistair notices that Al's sleazy grin bears a strong resemblance to Alfred's American Smile™.

* * *

Natalya, as Katyusha breaks away from the New Russian Empire, begins to avoid Nikolai like the plague. She spends her time shut in 'her' room, scrolling through the news on her phone. The only one able to get into the room is Lily.

She only come out once. She rushes down the stairs urgently, exploding into the living room, making Tomakas drop his mug.

"Is it true?" she asks Nikolai, "About the other universe?"

Nikolai glares at Lily, stood awkwardly in the doorway after following Natalya down. "I told you more than once not to tell her."

"We all knew she was going to," Matt says plainly.

"So it's true?" Natalya turns on Matt.

"Yes."

"How  _could_  you!" Natalya screeches at Nikolai.

"There's nothing I can do about it now!" Nikolai snaps back.

"But you could have done!"

"But I didn't!"

"No, you didn't. I fucking hate you." And with that, she storms back out of the room, Lily a few steps behind her.

Her bedroom door slaps. A sharp slap rings through the air. The living room falls into a stunned silence as Matt reels back from Nikolai's smack.

Nikolai slumps into the armchair, an opaque red barrier rising around the chair to the ceiling, blocking the rest of the room out.

"The fuck just happened?" Gilbert asks, shattering the silence.

"Poppet?" Oliver asks warily, hand on Matt's shoulder, "Are you alright?"

"He just slapped me," Matt says dumbly, hand cradling his reddened cheek.

"Shit, man," Al says, voice quiet for the first time since he's crossed over, "He's mad."

"Have a biscuit, sweetheart," Oliver says, pressing a chocolate chip cookie into Matt's hand.

"He's never hit you before?" Gilbert asks. Nikolai seems to be the sort of 'parent' that would be incredibly strict with his underlings.

"Yeah, but never across the face," Matt says, taking the cookie, "I got the ruler, the cane, and I got put in the basket once. I've never known him to hit someone across the face."

Now that Gilbert thinks about it, neither did Ivan. He threatened people with his 'magic stick', he smacked the Picts in the forehead, but he never blatantly backhanded someone.

"I'm going to make some cocoa!" Oliver announces, "Who wants cocoa?"

A few hands rise warily. Oliver counts quickly and skips off to the kitchen. François follows him, giving Matt an awkward pat on the head as he passes.

* * *

"Yong-Su reckons you're leaving today," Natasha tells Lillya softly.

"I am?" Lillya tries not to sound too excited. Truthfully, the 'other universe' is depressing and empty, and Lillya's glad to be going home to her carefree regime and her caring Big Brother.

"Yeah," Natasha says, "Lily? A? Lillya?" she often has to correct herself on Lillya's name, "In your universe, would you maybe… talk to my counterpart? I… I think she's going to need a friend."

"Why do you think that?"

"I just do. Please, Lillya."

Lillya stares at her, a little confused. A pang of exhaustion hits her, and she collapses, her vision clouded by an unnatural red.

"Lily? Lily!" the Belarusian accent cries. Lillya blinks back into the consciousness, the Russian red magic peeling away and fading. She's back in Germany, her home universe, laid in the bed of Ludwig's guest room, Natalya laid next to her.

Lillya blushes at their close proximity. Natalya frowns.

"You're not Lily anymore," she says plainly.

"No, I'm not," Lillya responds.

Natalya sighs, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. "Shame. I was starting to like her company."

"It's not something I can control. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You stay here instead."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. You're not actually so different from her, to be honest."

* * *

Cocoa in hand, Gilbert sits next to Matt. Matt's cheek has bruised, Nikolai's open palm purpled into his underling's skin. Oliver has piled Matt's cocoa up with squirty cream, three chocolate flakes, and lots of sprinkles. The melted cream clings to Matt's upper lip and nose, and he slurps at the many marshmallows floating in his drink.

"Were you ever scared of him?" Gilbert asks.

"Nikolai? Yeah," Matt says, "Only when I first became his underling. He was a godsend, though, terrified as I was. Dad was having a mental breakdown and with his magic and all, he just wasn't safe to be around. Papa was looking after him. I'd reverted back to a child, collapsed in Alaska and had nowhere else to go. In a way he was better than Dad and Papa. He always remembered I was there, made sure I knew what was happening in Canada and let me help with decisions. And then when I grew up again he treated me like an adult. All in all, he wasn't actually a bad caregiver. Bad sense of humour, though. He kept putting vodka in my drinks."

Gilbert snorts with laughter. "Oh, the horror!"

"I was, like, twelve!" Matt cries, laughing.

"You haven't been  _twelve_  for thousands of years!"

"I was  _physically_  twelve!"

Both men laugh helplessly, and a small amount of the awkward atmosphere diffuses.

Matt takes a deep breath, wiping the cream off his face with his sleeve. "I'll be honest, though; there was one other time I was scared of him."

"There was?" Gilbert asks.

"Yeah. When you died." Matt casts a glance to the red barrier still hiding Nikolai, "Think about it, Gil. There's only one way we can die permanently."

"No more humans to support us, and no more land."

"The humans were already gone. He just needed to get rid of his land."

Gilbert stares at him. "He gave it to you."

Matt nods silently.

"And you thought he'd be mad at you."

"I still do. He doesn't know, he's never figured it out. He knows the land didn't go back to him when Gilbert died, but he can't figure out why."

"And when he does?"

Matt shrugs. "I'm hoping he never does."

"I'm not gonna tell him," Gilbert promises grimly.

* * *

Ivan sits on the sofa of the Starting House. Yong-Su sits at the desk, checking his papers for the final time. Matthew lays on the floor in front of him, buzzing with magic.

Matt sits upright with a gasp. He shudders, sighs, and stands up.

"Am I going to go home now?" Ivan asks.

"Yeah," Matt answers shortly, "But Nikolai wants to make an announcement first."

"Who to?"

"Just Gilbert."

"That's not much of an announcement."

Matt gives an amused huff. "It is. He's telling Gilbert about the bridge between our universes."

"Does Gilbert understand that sort of magic?"

"No. And neither do you."

Yong-Su screws up one of his papers and throws it at Matt.

"Is it going to take long?" Ivan asks, "I want to go home."

"No, it isn't," Matt says, "I'll warn you now, though, your world's a mess. And it's technically your fault because 'Russia' started it. So good luck."

Ivan opens his mouth to ask more questions, but collapses sideways.

He wakes up in an armchair in Ludwig's house. Gilbert sits on the sofa, staring in shock. Young-Soo stands in the doorway.

"It all makes sense now," Young-Soo mumbles.

"It's good to be back!" Ivan cries with a grin.

Gilbert jumps at the sound of his voice. He stands up and practically runs away, barreling into Young-Soo and disappearing behind the portrait into the Journal Room.

* * *

"What are we doing down in here?" Matt asks as he draws the symbol on the wall in ink.

They're in the Journal Room. The shelves have been torn out of some of the bookcases to allow for these symbols, the wood and books simply slung towards the centre of the room.

"It is not like you to question me, Matt," Nikolai says.

"Well, I am questioning you. This is weird."

"We are destroying all links to the other universe in order to close the bridge permanently."

"Can't you just use magic?"

"Possibly. But I am unsure of the precise magic. We don't want anymore accidents with it. That could be dangerous."

Matt nods. "But couldn't just setting it on fire be dangerous?"

"No. The bridge is closed on their end, and these symbols will contain the fire and magic within here. Even if the door is opened, they cannot escape the confines created by the symbols. Like a barrier of sorts."

"And nothing can get through?"

"Sound can."

Matt freezes. Nikolai continues painting calmly.

"I think that's enough," Nikolai says, putting the paint brush back in his bucket of ink. With a snap of his fingers, the books set aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ruler; smacking someone on the knuckles with a ruler  
> The cane; hitting someone (usually on the butt, legs or back, or the palms if the cane's thin) with a cane  
> The basket; being put in a basket that is then hung from the rafters in the ceiling by a rope. Not so painful but very frightening, as there is a danger of the rope/basket breaking, so the victim has to stay very still for prolonged amounts of time. Obviously, this would have to be done in a very old building, increasing the change of something breaking.  
> Hits to the face were rare, especially open palm (the palm hitting the cheek) slaps. This is largely because they would hurt the slapper's hand as well. Injuring the face was also seen as a very lower-class thing to do (think fist-fights and scrawls) and was therefore a disrespectful thing to do.  
> All of these are considered abuse in most cultures. Don't do them. If anyone does them to you, seek professional help, especially if you are a child being abused by an adult.


	60. Nastanka; 'Wealthy'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter skips through time a lot. There's also a few fact/exposition dumps

The uprisings against the New Russian Empire is expensive for the invaded nations, despite Nikolai's apathy. Borrowing money, stealing money and debts has left the world tense, even the slightest mistake being used as motive for another battle, causing more debts and more tension, spiralling into chaos. Humans kill and are killed in huge numbers, too big to accurately estimate and report, and in ways too horrific to ethically discuss. The nation representatives can barely function, horrendously ill as their populations and population's morale drops like stones, politicians in and thrown out of office within hours, the state the world has been left in too big an issue to tackle for even the strongest of leaders.

 **Fifty years pass**. Alfred, desperate for at least a pause in the war, turns to his last resort. Laid on his skateboard, he rolls himself under the panel, switching wires no humans know to switch at the risk that they would switch them. The computer above him bleeps in warning, then falls silent as Alfred disables the security system, allowing himself in.

The Mutually Assured Destruction agreement had been the result of the Cold War; a system in place to stop Russia or America or any other country with nuclear weaponry from detonating that weaponry. On detonation, the victim country is able to respond with its own nuclear attack, or one of their allies can retaliate in their place. The attacker country will definitely suffer. The MAD agreement had ended the Cold War between Russia and America. It's only fitting that it should bring the end of the Russian Empire.

Alfred climbs out from under the computer, and vomits blood as a boat of three hundred American refugees trying to flee sinks under a Polish missile fired by a Taiwanese officer from a Nigerian ship. No one even knows who's fighting for what or where or who anymore.

Barely able to see anymore, dust clouds settled over his country impairing his sight, Alfred hammers in some coordinates and presses the big red button.

* * *

A year later, Ludwig wakes up in the containment unit. He is in a plastic cell, separated from the rest of the radioactive survivors. A long, twisted scar warps his thigh.

In the cell next to him is a little Slovak girl called Nastanka. She is quite plain, with a straight line for a smile and dark hair that loops and folds on itself. She speaks neither German or English, and Ludwig's Slovak is rusty, but with some aid from Nastanka's crayons and scrap paper, she's able to explain the year's happenings to him.

The bright light he'd seen before he'd blacked out was a nuclear missile. It's origin is unknown, but fingers are being pointed at Russia and America. Ludwig has been seemingly asleep, breathing and sometimes even speaking, and no matter what the volunteer doctors have tried to put him 'out of his misery' he's survived. Nastanka's drawings of him headless, drained of his blood, crushed and murdered in many other ways are disturbing.

She writes a series of sentences on her paper, saying that they were what Ludwig had screamed in his sleep. Reading them, they seem Latin and Old Germanic, but he can't work out what they say outside of a few words, "green dress", "paint", "promise" and "return" occurring often. They come to the conclusion he was delirious.

His family and friends, one of the volunteer doctors explains, are presumed dead. There were very few German survivors. No one has been to visit.

Nastanka has a green dress. Ludwig thinks she looks familiar, but he can't pin down why.

Three weeks after he wakes up, Nastanka dies leant on the plastic wall between their cells, a drawing of Ludwig and her surrounded by flowers in her lap.

* * *

 **Fifty-five years**  after returning to his home world, Ivan sits in Katyusha's bath, his sister trying to help him scrub the blood and coal dust off his skin and out his hair.

It is the first time in over fifty years he hears his younger sister's voice.

Her chirpy "Privyet, sestra!" dies as soon as she sees Ivan, almost completely covered in dirt, eyes puffy and red from crying. "The fuck happened to you."

"I was trying to help," Ivan sobs. Katyusha has coated his hair in soap, forming a mucky sludge on his head, "I thought if I took the children underground, they'd be safe. But it collapsed in the air raid."

"Are the children alright?"

"No. No survivors."

Natalya almost pities him.

Katyusha dumps a basin of water over Ivan's head. The water runs clear at long last, his black hair sticking to his forehead. Ivan pulls the plug and covers himself, a little embarrassed by his nakedness as his sisters stare at him. Katyusha grabs his head, dragging his close to her and pulling at his hair, searching it.

"Your hair has changed colour," she says dumbly.

"It has?" Ivan pulls on a clump, trying to see it, "What colour is it?"

"Black," Natalya answers.

"Oh. That's a big change, isn't it?"

Katyusha gawks at it. "But it changed so quick. Eduard's hair colour change took several days."

Natalya turns on her heel and leaves. A few hours later, Ivan leaves, re-dressed, hair still as black as Nikolai's. It is the last time Katyusha speaks to him for several months.

* * *

Feliciano stopped wearing his cross shortly after Ludwig disappeared after Germany and Poland were hit by the bomb. It made him miss the German too much. Lovino moved in with him, worried about his brother's health. He lost Roman, and now he's lost Ludwig too. Lovino has decided he's never going to let a blond grow too close to his brother again.

They've become hard to tell apart. No longer in their Gucci and Jardini, their clothes are shared, their curls have lost their bounce, and Feliciano smiles much less. Even Antonio has been struggling to tell them apart, but tries to turn into something silly by smashing their names together into "Flavino" or "Lociano".

* * *

 **Eighty years after**  the Wars began, Ludwig is finally released from the containment unit. He walks with a slight limp, his scar aching with every step, a drawing of himself and a little girl surrounded by flowers carefully folded in his pocket.

He walks, painfully and tiredly, to Italy. He knocks loudly on the door, answered by one of the Italians. They lead him into the house.

He can't work out which of them is Feliciano. Neither runs up to him, neither demand a kiss or a hug or a piggyback, neither of them even smile. Their house is a mess, but Ludwig is too tired to clean. The Italians let him sleep there.

* * *

Food has been running short in England. His people have turned to cannibalism.

Francis finds him in his Kent home, eating through a red soup slowly. He finds Alistair and Dylan in the basement, Dylan locked in a cage, Alistair hanging upside-down from the ceiling unconscious, deep gouges in his shoulders still healing. Neither of them have any idea how long they've been there.

* * *

 **Ninety years**  have passed since Ivan returned from the 'other' universe. It has been thirty-five years since his hair turned black. It has been ten years since Katyusha last spoke to him.

He's developed a habit of wandering. Especially in the North, where no one will bother him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Wandering Alaska, he finds a child in the snow. Small, blond, physically about twelve. It's cold, the temperatures much lower than humans should be able to survive. Stranger still, the Canadian hockey shirt, jeans and boots the child wears look like they should fit an adult, not a child as small as them.

Ivan picks up the child. Their eyes flutter, purple irises staring at him for several seconds before closing again. Blond hair is long and soft, their skin is pale, their little heart beats hard.

Leaving the boots in the snow, Ivan carries Matthew west to Russia.

* * *

Lillya sits on the stairs, Natalya leant on her shoulder.

"Nat?" she says quietly, "I think I've figured out what Natasha used to say about this world and our world not being so different."

"Lily used to say that a lot too," Natasha responds, "But she told me why."

Across the basement of where the Zwingli house had stood, burned down just before the Wars started, Vash leans against the wall, staring at Lillya like he's never seen her before in his life. Her rifle sits next to her, blood-stained and well-used.

* * *

"Do you know any prose?" Ivan asks.

"Yeah. Dad encouraged us to read a lot, especially poetry," Matvei, representative of the Russian colony of Canada now known as Nov' Kanada, answers.

"Go stand over there, facing the wall," Ivan orders.

Confused, Matvei walks to the wall, standing soldier-straight, nose barely two inches from the paneling.

"Recite something," Ivan orders plainly.

Matvey takes a deep breath. "In Flanders Field, the poppies grow-"

"Didn't you hear me?" Ivan interrupts, making Matvei jump, "I said recite something."

"I was…"

"Face the wall! I didn't hear you. Speak louder. No one will take you seriously if you talk like a little mouse,"

"In Flander's Field, the poppies grow-"

"I still can't hear you."

"Through the trenches-"

"Speak louder."

"Row on-"

" _Radi' yebat, Matvei!_ "

Frightened almost to tears, Matvei starts again, voice barely below a shout: "In Flander's Field, the poppies grow, through the trenches, row on row…"

Ivan doesn't interrupt him again.

* * *

Francis watches Arthur mix the icing for his cupcakes. Alfred lays over the kitchen table, unresponsive. Arthur says the American was just incredibly tired. Francis isn't sure he believes the Brit.

"That's very red icing," Francis comments.

"Isn't it lovely?" Arthur says cheerily. He's been smiling far too much recently, unnaturally, like the corners of his eyes are being pulled by hooks back to his ears.

"It's a little disturbing."

"Don't be rude, Franny. I think it's lovely."

"You thought keelhauling me was lovely."

"No, poppet," he keeps slipping into a Cockney accent, probably because the last of his people were from East London, "I thought keelhauling you was  _entertaining_. And I don't sail anymore, so you've nothing to worry about."

"There's everything to worry about. Your behaviour is a little… strange."

"Strange?" the smile drops. "You think I'm strange."

Francis stutters.

"I'm not strange. I'm not mad. I'm not… I'm  _fine_ , Francis."

"I think you need another nap," Francis says, standing up and putting his hands on Arthur's shoulders gently, trying to be friends.

"I'm  _fine, Francis_!" Arthur bellows.

Upstairs, Alistair's footsteps echo as he runs through the house. He's stayed with Arthur, trying to help pull him out of his cannibalism and paranoia and night terrors. At even the slightest raised voice, Alistair has come dashing to try to calm Arthur down.

"Oh, look, you've woken Alistair up," Francis scolds, and Arthur freezes, eyes wide.

"I didn't mean to," he mumbles.

"It's alright, he can go back to sleep. Just calm down, and come take a nap, oui?"

"I don't need a nap."

"I think you do."

"I'm not a child, Franny. I don't need naps. I'm making this icing, get off me."

"What's going on?" Alistair bursts in, still his night shirt.

"I'm getting Arthur to take a nap," Francis says, blinking slowly at Alistair twice; an agreed signal for 'cannibalism'.

"C'mon, Artie," Alistair says gently, "Let's go get some rest, aye?"

"I don't need rest," Arthur says firmly, "I need to finish this."

"That can wait."

"So can a nap."

Alistair sighs. "C'mon Artie. You love naps."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Yes you  _do_." Alistair grabs Arthur by the arm, starting to drag him out of the kitchen.

Arthur yells, a burst of accidental magic sending Alistair flying across the rooms.

"I'd forgotten I could do that sort of thing," Arthur mumbles. He sends Francis flying after Alistair, then turns back to his icing.

Alistair pulls himself up, helping Francis to his feet as well. "Artie, you need to be more careful."

"You need to let me bake," Arthur retorts, smile returned.

"You need to stop using other nation's blood in your cooking," Alistair snaps, storming across the kitchen and seizing Arthur. Arthur tries to push him away, both physically and magically, but Alistair deflects him easily.

A flash of bright light. It fades to Alistair standing dumbly, covered in blood, Arthur's body in his hands and his decapitated head on the floor, still grinning.

"Oh dear," the head says, and Francis screams in horror, "What a mess."

* * *

Alistair sits in Ivan's study, toying with his fingers. His eyes are tired and sunken, his skin pale and sallow, his hair standing on its ends. Matvei stands by Ivan's desk in silence.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Ivan asks Alistair, "Are you sure you want to give it up?"

Alistair nods glumly. "Artie's just too dangerous with it. He barely knows what he's doing or where he is or who he is- I keep waking up to him in the kitchen floor smoking a cigarette and flicking the ashes onto his own legs and I'm just worried about him."

"But yours too?"

"Aye. And Erin's, and Sean's, and Dylan's. We agreed that if one of us had to give it up, we all would give it up."

"You're obviously very close," Ivan says. Matvei can sense the bitterness. Alistair can't.

"Please? I don't know who else to give it to."

"Lukas?"

Alistair pulls a face. "Don't get on with him. Viking bastard. And Vladimir gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"But I'm tolerable?"

"If you're responsible enough for Mata, you're responsible enough for me."

Matvey grins. Ivan huffs a laugh, and finally nods. Alistair sighs in relief.

They stand, face to face, gloveless. With deep breaths, Ivan and Alistair shake hands. Their locked fingers glow with light, green and blue and white and red burning blinding bright,

Alistair collapses. He hasn't slept in days, running on an energy produced by the magic he used to have.  _Used_  to have. Ivan, with a wave of his hand, teleports Alistair back to Britain. He flexes his fingers, staring at them.

"Boss?" Matvei asks warily, "Are you okay, eh?" His voice has risen in volume, cracking with puberty.

He squeaks in shock as Ivan's scarf writhes experimentally. Ivan turns, his scarf shooting towards Matvei and lifting him into the air. The hold floppy, Matvei almost falls, and ends up hanging upside-down from Ivan's hold, grumbling: "I'm not going to become your magic-practice guinea pig, am I?"

Ivan unravels the scarf, and Matvei braces himself for impact, but he doesn't hit the floor. Under Ivan's focus, he hovers safely in the air.

"This is going to be fun," Ivan grins, and Matvei sighs. Ivan's eyes, red with mingling magic, seem to glow in anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nastanka is a Slovak diminutive of Anastasia


	61. Oliver; 'To extend (the olive branch of) peace'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter is very choppy.
> 
> Death and suicide warnings.

Ivan watches Matvei in his courtyard, swinging a sword from one hand. His steps are heavy and his hands fast- clearly British-trained.

Gilbert stands opposite him, deflecting attacks easily. After almost  **ninety-five**   **years** of avoiding everyone, alternating between his basement flat, his Journal Room and the nearest bar, Gilbert had simply appeared on Ivan's doorstep, refusing to look him in the eye as he'd plainly stated he'd like to help 'Birdie' train. Something about a range of fighting styles from across the world. Ivan hadn't argued. 'Birdie' had been overjoyed to see Gilbert again.

Matvei has grown to the appearance of a fourteen year old, acne-prone and lanky, voice almost comically deep. He's been surprised by his quick growth, his puberty under British rule having taken centuries.

Gilbert deflects Matvei's attacks easily, and Matvei is getting frustrated. Gilbert laughs, and Gilbird twitters merrily from behind Ivan.

Tossing his sword from the right to the left, Gilbert dodges Matvei's lunge easily and smacks him in the back, knocking Matvei over. Gilbert laughs again, and speaks.

He helps Matvei to his feet. Standing next to Matvei, he tosses the sword from hand to hand, Matvei copying warily. Matvei drops the sword, and Gilbert gives him a flick on the ear and a grin.

* * *

A few months after a half-hearted  **century anniversary**  of the second players leaving, Matvei sits in a windowed alcove in the library. He likes to sit there, wrapped up in a jumper or his old cotton telogreika or a fleece blanket, a book in his lap and a large mug of cocoa in reaching distance, the snow storming down behind the glass. However, he simply stares out, book closed next to him, cocoa cold.

Ivan sits in an armchair nearby, knitting a scarf. His old scarves have been getting ratty and some are even falling apart. He's found a series of red wool balls, and has decided to knit all of them into a single scarf, even if it will end up ridiculously long. It'll kill time.

"Hey, Ivan?" Matvei calls softly, "It hasn't snowed in three years."

Ivan looks up. He hadn't been keeping track of snowfall, but he had noticed it hasn't snowed in a while. "Looks like global warming really  _was_  an issue, huh?"

Matvei doesn't laugh. "It hasn't rained either."

"Try not to think into it, Matvei. We'll get by, and the the rain will return."

"But when?"

"I don't know. Don't worry yourself. Read your book."

"The plants are gonna die."

"They haven't. We've been watering them."

"What if we run out of water?"

"That's not going to happen, Matvei."

* * *

 **A hundred and ten years**  have passed since the first players' return. A fight between Ludwig and Erin has left Ludwig with a scar in his cheek that doesn't heal. Kiku takes Erin on as a sword-fighting underling, teaching her to handle different swords she hadn't been allowed to even hear about as a medieval woman. One of the Italian twins cleans obsessively, his brother worrying about him.

Matvei stands in Ivan's study, skin seeming to tangle as magic settles inside him.

"You need to focus," Ivan tells him.

"Focus on what, exactly?" Matvei asks, "Just 'focus' doesn't help me."

"Something clean. Glass, air, water, whatever."

Matvei thinks of freshwater lakes, the surface frozen and undamaged by young skaters. His skin burns, and he vanishes from sight, a slight indent in the thick carpet being the only sign he's there.

"It worked!" Ivan cheers, "It worked! You are invisible!"

Matvei sighs, re-appearing. "Is this supposed to be a fucking joke?"

"What?"

"'Let's turn the invisible one literally invisible, da!'"

"No. I didn't think of that. Shit."

Matvei raises an eyebrow.

"Just- surprise Gilbert. Turn invisible and stab him."

"But then he'd know where I am."

"Stab him quickly. And turn the blood on you invisible too, or he'll be able to see you."

"I can turn other things invisible too?"

"Yes. Now go practice."

Matvei grins, and runs off. Ivan's just given the teen a great new pranking skill, and he get's the feeling it's going to get used on him.

* * *

In Germany, Gilbert becomes a regular at the Berlin Library, taking out books on magic. Especially Russian magic.

* * *

Matvei puts his suitcases down on the ground. He hasn't spoken French in a while, but it comes back to him easily as he speaks to the Canadian landlord.

Finally an adult again, he's returned to Canada to find his cabin has almost completely collapsed, so he's moved back to the city. The city's quiet, the population smaller than he's ever known it to be.

"I need to take a name," the landlord says, "Legal reasons."

Matvei pauses. 'Matvei' is far too Russian a name, it'll only raises questions. "Matt," he answers, "Matt Williams."

* * *

One Italian wraps the bleach burns on his brother's hands.

"Fratello," his brother whispers, "I'm sick to fucking death of this dry pasta."

His brother stares at him in shock, almost dropping the bandage.

* * *

Gilbert sits in his journal room, back against an empty bookcase. His latest diary sits next to him, new this morning with only one entry, an open letter, inside. The butt of his rifle is balanced between his legs, the barrel in his mouth. A single bullet sits in one of the six chambers.

He presses down on the trigger. It clicks uselessly.

He laughs at the irony of playing Russian Roulette.

The next press on the trigger clicks uselessly.

Russian Roulette is normally played with more than one person, but only Matt knows Gilbert is down here. Gilbert would like to keep it that way.

He presses down on the trigger.

* * *

Ludwig hears the gunshot from the kitchen. Confused, he heads to the basement, calling for Gilbert. Gilbert doesn't answer.

Ludwig heads to the Journal Room, the portrait having been left down years ago, the hole gaping in the wall.

"Gilbert?"

Gilbert doesn't answer.

* * *

"But what does it  _mean_?" Ivan shouts at Matt.

"Exactly what it says," Matt says, "This isn't any sort of poem or code or riddle; it's a diary."

"But what does he  _mean_?" Ivan cries.

Ludwig sits on the floor between them, being half-heartedly comforted by Vash, stroking his hair and whispering "Hush, Luds, hush." Gilbert's body is still slumped half-against the bookcase, Yao trying to scoop his brains back into his skull.

"He'll heal," one of the Italians says plainly, "He'll explain it himself."

"I don't think he's going to heal," Matt says.

"No. He won't," Young-Soo says, "Yao, leave him alone."

"Of course he'll heal!" Yao says firmly, trying harder to force the bloody mush back against Gilbert's spine, "He's a nation! He's immortal!"

"Obviously not. Gilbert's diary says exactly what it says. No riddles. No double meaning. What does it say, Matt?"

"There is no other universe." Matt reads.

"Then there is no other universe."

"But we were there!" Ivan spits.

"Were we? Go upstairs and look outside,  _Ivan_. Then come back down here and look at us. Look at 'Luds' and tell me that isn't military lackey Lutz. Look at Matt and tell me that isn't second in command Matvei. Then look in a mirror and tell me you're not Nikolai."

The group stare at him, then each other.

* * *

Gilbert is buried in a stiff black suit, his hands folded around the hilt of his sword, his body surrounded with the last flowers, flora as stubborn as he had been. His gravestone is marked with every badge he had earned in his life, including a doctor's badge earned in the recent Wars and a Russian scribe badge.

* * *

"Do you have any idea where to start?" Russia asks Matt.

Matt takes down a random diary and checks the date on the first page. "Later than this."

It takes almost half an hour, Gilbert's diary collection being incredibly extensive, to find the exact diaries starting  **a hundred and fifty years**  ago. Matt sits straight on the floor, reading Gilbert's accounts of Nikolai's takeover.

"Don't read right here!" one of the Italian's snaps at him.

"Leave him," Russia says plainly, dismissing the Italians.

He puts a hand on Matt's head, shooting magic into the reading Canadian. "Snap your fingers for me."

Matt snaps his fingers. As he uncurls his fist, light erupts from his palm.

"Neat," Matt comments, "Thanks, Boss."

Russia ruffles Matt's hair and leaves him to the diaries, heading back up into the Starting House.

* * *

Russia sits in the German study, unsure what to do with himself. His scarf complete, it sits folded on the desk, even longer than he'd expected. Matt and Young-Soo sit on the sofas, Matt laid across one reading one of the diaries, Young-Soo sat inspecting a German Luger.

He picks it up, unfolding it and re-folding it in a large loop. He picks it up and places it simply on his shoulders, letting the two long ends hang down his back.

It takes very little concentration to make it move. Very little effort, in fact.

The blast of magic explodes against the grandfather clock, smashing it. Russia focuses on the pieces, trying to rebuild it. However, never having worked with clockwork, he's unsure what he's doing.

It looks right. It's tall, the outer panels look like they're in the right place, there are twelve numbers and four hands on the face. Why it has  _four_  hands Russia has no idea but Lutz would know. Lutz would be able to fix it. If it wasn't Prussian. Prussian things have been upsetting Lutz.

Russia focuses on the clock, willing it to work. Nothing happens.

Muttering expletives under his breath, Russia opens the front door and sticks his head inside, trying to see what could be wrong.

Bright red light flashes, and the clock and room are gone. He lays in a field full of hibiscus, the horizon sparse and empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telogreika; Padded coat  
> One of the Italians; the one who cleans obsessively is Veneziano. Veneziano is also the one who announces he's sick of pasta. Just to clear that up for you.  
> Hibiscus; Hibiscus syriacus is the Korean national flower. He's in Korea, a very long time ago.


	62. Yong-Su; 'Brave Warrior'

The child wandering towards Russia is small, young, with wide, curious eyes and wild, dark hair. Wonder and intrigue seems to radiate off him as he nears Russia.

"Who are you?" Russia asks, sitting up. Pollen and petals stick to his hair.

"I don't know," the child responds. Their voice is too wise for a human child, the words pronounced and certain like an adult's.

Russia stands up, towering over the child. He scoops them up, pulling their hanbok tighter around them.

"Where are we going?" the child asks.

"To find someone who knows who you are," Russia answers.

"Who are you?"

Russia pauses. "My name is Nikolai."

"That's a strange name."

"It's Russian."

"What's a Russian?"

"I'm a Russian."

"So… really tall?"

"No."

"Moody?"

"No."

"Having a big nose?"

"No. Russia is a place far away from here. I come from there."

"Oh. Where do I come from?"

"I have no idea."

"Might I be Russian?"

"No."

"Then what am I?"

"Fucking annoying."

* * *

"Nikolai-ssem?" the child asks.

Nikolai sighs. The child has managed two minutes in silence. If that.

"What?" Nikolai says shortly.

"Can you tell me a story."

Nikolai almost stops in his tracks. "A story?"

"Yes. Please."

"Will you stay quiet if I tell you a story."

"Yes, Nikolai-ssem!"

Nikolai doesn't recognise the honourific 'ssem', but it's familiar. "Fine. Once upon a time, a woman lived with her daughter whom she loved dearly, her step-daughter whom she despised, her husband, and a dog that did not bark…"

* * *

"...Their dog never barked, and neither the pedlar nor Father Frost were ever seen again. The end."

The child has fallen asleep, head on Nikolai's shoulder.

Peace and quiet, at long last.

* * *

Nikolai creeps up to the campsites, tents tall and bright. Yao's tent is the smallest, modest, his horse tied to a stake hammered into the grounds. Yao lies, shenyi hanging open, zhongyi sweat-stained as he fans himself in the heat. Nikolai's understanding of traditional Chinese dress is limited, but if he had to guess he'd say Yao is dressed in clothes from the Han dynasty, or thereabouts, making the era he's in roughly two centuries Before the Common Era, or 200 BC to simplify.

Nikolai puts the child down, waking them up. "Nikolai-ssem?"

"Does 'Joseon' mean anything to you?" Nikolai asks.

The child nods. "I heard some people singing about it. What is it?"

"It's a place."

"Like Russia?"

"Not really. It's here."

"Here? As in… this tent?"

Nikolai sighs. "Do you see that man there? His name is Yao. Go talk to him. He'll tell you who you are."

"What about you?"

"I already know who I am."

"But you're not coming with me?" the child pouts.

"No. I have to go."

"Back to Russia?"

"Oh, I wish. To Germany."

"Is that like Russia?"

"Not really."

"Is there anywhere  _like_  Russia?"

"No."

"I'm going to visit Russia one day."

"And I'll see you there. Go to Yao."

The child bows to Nikolai, and Nikolai awkwardly bows back, before they skips off with a cry of "Yao!"

Yao sits bolt upright, but the child knocks him back down again.

"Aiyaah! Who are you?!"

"I don't know! Nikolai-ssem said you could tell me."

"Who?"

The child points back to Nikolai, but even though Yao circles the tent and surrounding area several times, there's no sign of the tall 'Russian' man in black that the child describes.

"Do you know what  _your_  name is?" Yao asks the child. Enough of this Nikolai-ssem.

"I don't know."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't have any parents, do you?"

The child shakes their head.

Yao carries the child into his tent. "I'm going to call you Young-Soo. It means 'Immortal Warrior'. Is that okay? You can call me Big Brother if you like."

* * *

Nikolai materialises back in the room, a feeling a little sick. He's never had to use so much magic at once.

"Where the hell did you go?" Matt demands.

"The foundation of Korea," Nikolai answers, "I think. When Yao found Yong-Su."

"Not quite the foundation of Korea, but close enough," Yong-Su says plainly.

"Well, Yao didn't actually find you, did he? It was 'Nikolai-ssem', wasn't it?"

Yong-Su reddens. "I couldn't pronounce 'seonsaeng-nim', okay?"

"It was cute~"

"So what you're saying is;" Matt cuts in, "You travelled back in time?"

"It would appear that way," Nikolai says, "Very far back in time."

"Why that far though?" Matt muses, searching the clock, "That was several centuries, right?"

"Over three," Yong-Su says.

"So maybe if we just…" Matt moves the hands forwards to random numbers.

"Are we going to put any thought into this?" Yong-Su asks.

"Some," Matt answers, "Trail and error. Keep going until we narrow down the right time."

"Does this mean I'm going to be hopping all over time?" Nikolai whines, "That sounds tiring."

"Not  _all over_. Just a lot."

"That makes me feel so much better."

* * *

Feliciano sits next to the coffin, crying bitterly. In the coffin, a young blond lies, a yellow flag covering his body, the boy just tall enough for his head and feet to stick out stiffly either side.

A tall man, dressed in strangely form-fitting clothes and a long scarf, enters the room, bewildered and dizzy. He stumbles before righting himself, and scanning the room.

"Oh," he says dumbly, "Sorry for your loss."

Feliciano sniffles helplessly. He's young, a teenager, in a green dress, a white cloth wrapped around his head. "I told him not to got to war. I told him not to be too powerful, but he didn't listen."

"Then he was an idiot, wasn't he?"

Feliciano wails miserably. Nikolai sighs, and crouches down to the maid's height.

"Listen, little boy," he grumbles, "Crying isn't going to help anyone."

Feliciano cries harder. "It's not  _fair_!"

"Life isn't fair. Then you die."

He regrets his words as soon as he says them, as Feliciano practically screams.

"Boy! Boy! Shut up! Stop it! Listen to me!"

"I don't want to! You're mean!"

"I know, but shut up anyway!"

Feliciano sniffles and chokes, and finally quiets.

"Look at you. Little Christian boy," Nikolai pats his head awkwardly, "You know why your friend's gone, don't you?"

Feliciano nods. "He got too powerful."

"No. There's no such thing as too powerful, no matter what the older nations tell you. The reason your friend's gone is because God only takes the best people to be his angels. The more his death hurts us, the more beautiful an angel he'll become. It's strange, and it's cruel, but we all need reminding of our mortality sometimes."

Wide-eyed, Feliciano gazes up at Nikolai. "Really?"

"Yes." Nikolai totally didn't bullshit that just now.

Feliciano cheers. An Austrian bellow echoes down the hall, and Feliciano jumps.

"Goodbye, strange mean man!" Feliciano calls as he runs off, wiping his tears off on his sleeve, leaving Nikolai alone with the dead body of the representative of the Holy Roman Empire.

Roman definately looks like Ludwig would have done as a child, square jaw just beginning to set in, blond hair thin from vigorous brushing, clothes neat and clean and pressed. Nikolai adjusts one of the roses by his head, making him more symmetrical.

Nikolai presses two fingers into Roman's neck. No heartbeat. No warmth from his skin, breath from his lips, no life in his eyes.

Experimentally, Nikolai shoots magic into Roman's chest, jump starting the small heart. Roman gasps, sitting upright.

"Where am I!?" he cries.

"You're…" Nikolai looks around again. He actually has no idea. Austria, probably, but maybe not.

"Who are you?"

"That's not important. I need to ask you a question. How did you die?"

Roman blinks at him. "I died?"

"Yes. Let me rephrase; what is the last thing you remember?"

Roman stares stupidly. He frowns, thinking, then shakes his head.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't remember anything."

"Don't remember anything about what?""

" _Anything_. I don't know anything."

"Let's start at the basics, then. What is your name?"

"I don't know."

It's Nikolai's turn to stare stupidly. "You don't know your name?"

Roman shakes his head. "Do you know my name?"

Footsteps echo in the hallway. Nikolai barely has time to turn invisible as Gilbert bursts in, dropping the cremation jar at the sight of Roman.

"Do you know my name?" Roman repeats to Gilbert.

"You were dead," Gilbert says, holding up the cross around his neck, "And now you're not."

"No, I'm not," Roman says matter-of-factly, "I don't know how."

"What do you know?"

"I know how to speak. I know that I know you. I think… you're my friend."

"I'm your brother."

"And who was the man in black?"

Gilbert scans the room. "A man in black?"

"Yes. He was tall and pale and he was dressed completely in black."

"Der Großmann!" Gilbert gasps. He grabs Roman, dragging him out of the coffin, "We have to leave!"

"Why?"

Gilbert throws Roman over his shoulder, the small ex-empire squirming.

"I… don't… what's my name?" Roman stammers.

"Ludwig," Gilbert says, marching out, "Your name is Ludwig."

* * *

And so, Nikolai leaps around time, inspiring folklore. The humans give him many names, der Großmann melting in modern Western culture as Slenderman. Other names, like the Grim Reaper, the Bogeyman, the Sandman, the Babadook, crop up throughout cultures, and modern conspiracy theorists dub him the Watcher, or the Man Who Cannot die, or perhaps the most creepily The Man Who Is Always There. His random, erratic appearances fame him among those who love stories and mystery, always staying for a few minutes in a tired daze before vanishing again with no comprehensible explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The child in the beginning is Korea  
> Seonsaeng-nim means 'teacher' (formal) in Korean. 'Ssem' is a mispronunciation commonly used. Like 'Mister' becoming 'sir' in English.  
> Nikolai brought HRE back to life to question him about death and how nations stay dead, only to be interrupted and HRE to be adopted by Prussia and grow up to be Germany  
> Nikolai appeared all over time. There's loads of conspiracy theories about time travellers and/or superior races living alongside humans 'observing' us. Don't look into it too much, it's some trippy shit.


	63. Scottie; 'Painted (Scottish) soldier'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for death, horror and torture

"That's not one Gilbert's journals," Nikolai says.

The book Matt is reading is significantly older than the journals he's been reading over and over, condensing and memorising. It's bound in Prussian blue, the pages yellowed and ready to fall out at too rough a page-turn.

"It is," Matt says, "It's an older one, from when Gilbert was little."

"Why are you reading those? You're supposed to be reading about the takeover."

"I have done. Several times. I've got it, Boss, calm down."

* * *

When Matt next goes down into the Journal Room, several shelves of books are missing. He asks Nikolai and Lutz about it, Lutz crying, Nikolai lying and saying he hasn't seen them. The fire burns brightly, destroying Gilbert's records of Rus' failures and helplessness all those centuries ago.

* * *

Alistair sits in the clock tower. His left leg and eye are completely gone, and it had taken him almost half an hour to get to the tower, another quarter to get up the stairs. He heals slowly, the stump and socket burning as new skin and bone and jelly grow back.

Sophia sits on his good leg, the rest of the micro-nations around him as he speaks softly, recounting tales from the top of his head. It's become a regular activity, Alistair escaping his brother to the tower to tell stories. The 'children' called him Mister Scotland, requesting stories politely, but as they grew used to the occurrence because more casual, Mister Scotland becoming Scot, then Scottie.

Alistair gets the feeling 'Scottie' is going to stick.

* * *

Matt sits straight in his chair, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs nervously. Nikolai stands next to him, an old magic book in one hand, his other hand clamped on Matt's crown.

"What are you doing to me?" Matt asks nervously.

"Have a little faith, Matt. Relax," Nikolai responds.

"It's a little difficult to relax when you're crushing my skull."

Magic shoots into Matt like an electric bolt, his muscles spasming in shock and his eyes shooting open. All around him, fire burns, hot and yellow. Smoke fills his lungs, and he chokes, ashes thick on his tongue.

Something smacks him in the forehead and the fire is gone as suddenly as it came, the study returning, Matt's head inches away from the desk and throbbing.

"What the fuck just happened?" he demands, sitting upright. The room spins.

"I tried to… what did you see?" Nikolai says. He presses a hand to Matt's forehead, cold magic shooting into his skull and numbing the pain..

"Fire. Fire everywhere."

"I tried to show you the future. I thought it could help."

"Yeah, well it didn't. I'm gonna go take a nap."

* * *

Scottie lies on the board, trousers hiding the nails shot through his knee caps in an attempt to keep him in the basement. Clearly, it didn't work.

Edwin, representative of Kugelmugel, runs up the stairs of the tower, chirping that Scottie's here. The pigtailed child had been sat in the doorway as Scottie had dragged himself up, and pulled out a child's cart to help. The cart hadn't been comfortable, Scottie's damaged knees forced painfully into his chest, but it's nothing he hasn't experienced before. Edwin had then organised him onto the wooden board and run off.

A squeal of unoiled metal movement above him, and the board rises slowly, jerkily. Rope is tied to the four corners and as Scottie rises, he can see the metal pulley above him the rope is looped over.

The board groans, buckling, and with a snap Sottie falls, half the height of the clock tower to the floor.

* * *

Matt stands in the yard, twirling the sword between his fingers easily. He throws it, catches it with his opposite hands, and continues to twirl it just as smoothly.

It's taken him seventy-five years, but he's mastered being ambidextrous. Gilbert would have been proud.

* * *

Over the years, the 'children's attempts at building a lift in the clock tower have improved. It now consists of four pulleys to lift all four corners by chains, the base being a wooden frame filled in with woven rope twisted out of off cut fabrics. A wooden box has been screwed to the frame, and is kept full of bandages and antiseptics and splints and painkillers, all stolen from the doctor's office in Yang's home. The 'children' don't know Yang makes sure to leave a box of each by a conveniently open window after he heard about Scottie's movements.

For the first time in ten years, Scottie gets right to the top of the clock tower in the lift. The 'children' cheer so loudly the whole village hears.

* * *

"Is is difficult?" Nikolai asks Matt, "Remembering the order and the nations and everything?"

"Not really," Matt says, "But I remember things well. Dad taught me a lot about fast memory. I was a spy, y'know."

"I know. I tried to hire you in the Cold War but  _no_ , Alfie was your  _brother_!"

"He still  _is_  my brother!"

"But we make such an excellent team, Matvei. Imagine the possibilities if you'd joined me sooner."

"Well, I didn't. And don't go time travelling to change that!"

"I wouldn't," Nikolai shakes his head, "We don't know what would happen if we were to change things. We could end the world."

"End the world?" Matt looks out the study window at the broken buildings and empty streets, "You say like we haven't already."

"The people will come back. Think of it as a re-set. A new start. We try again, emphasising peace and cooperation. We teach them what happened to us, the wars and the genocides and everything, and we make them learn from our mistakes. We won't be passive representatives, but their leaders, united and strong."

"Just like you always wanted."

* * *

"What are we doing down in here?" Matt asks as he draws the symbol on the wall in ink.

They're in the Journal Room, immediately after returning to the future. The shelves have been torn out of some of the bookcases to allow for these symbols, the wood and books simply slung towards the centre of the room.

"It is not like you to question me, Matt," Nikolai says.

"Well, I am questioning you. This is weird."

"We are destroying all links to the other universe in order to close the bridge permanently."

"Can't you just use magic?"

"Possibly. But I am unsure of the precise magic. We don't want anymore accidents with it. That could be dangerous."

Matt nods. "But couldn't just setting it on fire be dangerous?"

"No. The bridge is closed on their end, and these symbols will contain the fire and magic within here. Even if the door is opened, they cannot escape the confines created by the symbols. Like a barrier of sorts."

"And nothing can get through?"

"Sound can."

Matt freezes. Nikolai continues painting calmly.

"I think that's enough," Nikolai says, putting the paint brush back in his bucket of ink. With a snap of his fingers, the books set aflame.

"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to wait until  _after_  we've left the room," Matt says, hurrying out.

Nikolai grabs him by the shoulder. " _You're_  not leaving."

Matt shoves him off, bolting for the door. Barely phased, Nikolai's scarf wraps around Matt's waist, hoisting him into the air and throwing him across the room.

"You  _betrayed_  us!" Nikolai screams at him, the flames seeming to flare up in his anger, "You murdered Gilbert!"

"No I didn't" Matt yells back, "We both signed the paperwork!  _He_  pulled the paperwork together,  _he_  had to talk  _me_  into it,  _he_  made all the decisions! I just wrote my name!"

"How could you look Lutz in the eye? How could you pretend you didn't know anything? How could you  _live_  with yourself?"

Matt can't answer.

Nikolai leaves, closing and locking the door behind him. Matt is surrounded by the flames, hot and yellow and burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify:  
> Nikolai gave Matt a vision of the future, Matt only saw fire  
> Gilbert's training finally paid off  
> The reason Nikolai was afraid to not start the War that ended the world; he doesn't know what would happen if he didn't. He also firmly believes it's a 'reset' and the humans will return.  
> Nikolai did in fact hear Matt tell Gilbert how future Gilbert died, and punishes him by setting him on fire. Which is what Matt saw in his vision.


	64. Matt; 'Gift of the Lord'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for death and suicide

_One hundred years later, three hundred years in the future_

Yang kills himself with poison. Nikolai finds the body on the floor of the doctors office, skin cold and pale, form folded around an intricate treasure box Nikolai doesn't have the heart to break the box open and search through its contents to find out its significance to Yang. He buries the ancient nation with the box at his feet, next to Flávio who hung himself with three fashionable scarves twisted and knotted together.

There they lay, just under two hundred graves marked with their flags fraying on sticks, a disorganised grid of churned earth and corpses. The only one not buried is Matt, still in the Journal Room. The fire will have died years ago, but Nikolai had never bothered to let him free. A combination of anger, laziness, and an example to the rest.

But then how did the others die? Gilbert had to sign away his land, but no matter how hard he searched, how cruelly he interrogated, Nikolai never found out who was taking on the other nations' land. And now he's the only one left, without ever having signed anyone's life away.

He wanders back to his office. Maybe he'll finally leave Germany now, head back to Russia.

It still hasn't rained. Unfortunately, no amount of magic can control the earth. He can't force clouds to appear, the ground to soften, dead nations to rise again. But neither can he spend the rest of eternity alone.

It takes him three hours to cook the pan of borscht. Finding the right tins had been difficult, and pulling together the courage to lug the hot pan down the stair to the Journal Room had been nearly impossible.

Nikolai puts the pan down at the bottom of the stairs to open the door. No sound come from behind the door, and hasn't for centuries. Matt has been silent since the fire burnt out.

The door opens. Nikolai shoots magic at the ceiling, making it glow. Inside, the air is heavy and dry with smoke, the floor and walls covered in ashes, heavy bootprints stomped into the thick black all over the room.

"Matt?" Nikolai calls warily. No answer.

Nikolai pads into the room, the ashes sticking to his boots. He paces the room several times, and walks the perimeter. In one corner, a corner Gilbert hadn't lived long enough to put journals on yet, the ashes have been swept across by something swinging. A warped metal lump, akin to a handle, sticks out of the panel, and as Nikolai pulls it open the door frame there buzzes faintly with Norwegian magic, the library just beyond.

That explains the silence. Matt probably hasn't been here for at least a century.

Nikolai collapses helplessly to the floor, alone.

* * *

Back in the office, a stack of paperwork stands on top of the suitcase Nikolai wants to put his clothes in. He doesn't remember putting it there, but he's been so scattered recently with all the deaths and investigating he's not really sure where he put anything.

He knows it's ridiculous, and only delaying leaving, but he's got all eternity. Everyone around when the paperwork was made is dead and buried, they're not going to care if the paperwork is left incomplete, but Nikolai needs to find ways to keep himself occupied. Even if the stack will only last an hour or so.

He carries it to the desk, pulls down the top sheet, signs the dotted line, and shoves the sheet to the side.

Halfway down the stack, as he finishes the signature, Nikolai is hit with a wave of nausea, sending his head reeling and shortening his breath. Images from wars he never saw, alliances he never lived, nation representatives who died before he could meet them, fill his head quickly, thick and fast, ears ringing in tongues he's never heard but understands.

And from the top of the clock tower, Matt jumps, hitting the ground and ending his now-mortal life.

* * *

_One hundred years after that, four hundred years in the future_

Nikolai never left Germany. The houses have mostly crumbled, Nikolai only keeping Ludwig's old house habitable. The ground is covered in litter, empty alcohol bottles heavily outnumbering the empty tins. Nikolai has spent most of his time stark raving drunk.

"You've seriously let yourself go," Matt says, kicking a pile of litter over and making Nikolai jump.

Matt's white clothes don't suit him, too pale compared to the dark uniforms or red jacket Nikolai's used to seeing him in. They're Inuit clothes, warm and comfortable. His hair is tied back, glasses missing, and his skin seems to glow in the beating sun.

"What the fuck are you even doing here?" Nikolai slurs.

"We figured it was time some came down here to give you a little guidance," Matt answers.

"And if I don't listen to you and just tell you to fuck off?"

"You'll be alone longer. We can't repopulate the Earth if its completely dead."

"What if I like being alone?"

Matt snorts. "That's why you howled over my dead body, and why you're completely fucking coherent now. You're going insane down here."

"How do I know you're real? If I'm so insane, maybe I'm hallucinating you."

"I don't have an answer to that," Matt shrugs, "But it can't hurt you, can it?"

"What can't?"

"Bringing life back to Earth. It'll take some work, but you can do it."

Nikolai growls, "How the fuck can someone bring life back to  _this_?" He kicks the ground, scuffing up dust and tripping drunkenly over his feet.

"You grew sunflowers in  _Siberia_ , you've got this."

"But look at this," Nikolai gestures wildly to the desolate wasteland around them, "Look at this shit!"

"Look at you. Wasted, rolling around on the floor, yelling at what you're not sure is real. It can't  _hurt_  you to try, can it?"

* * *

_One hundred years after that, five hundred years in the future_

Clouds have been appearing in the sky for about thirty years now. Thick, heavy and dark, they pass over the sky without bursting, just leftover pollution.

Another one passes over the sun, giving Nikolai some shade as he pours water out of the bottle into the trench he's dug. He had to dig three feet to reach soil soft enough to take seeds. It took five years of careful nurturing for anything to grow, and even then it bore no fruit for almost ten more years. The plants died easily under the constant sun, Nikolai building little shelters of fabric and foil and sticks to keep them cool. All the water he finds goes to the plant, him living on alcohol.

The first few drops of water are light, barely noticeable. Then a heavy drop lands on the back of his neck, heavy and slightly more acidic than water should be.

After almost four centuries of endless sun, Nikolai raises his face to the sky as the cold, salty water rains down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick explaination;  
> After the fire in the Journal Room died, Mathias (Denmark) rescued Matt through the secret teleport between the Journal Room and the Library cupboard.  
> Matt took on other nations' land to let them die. Nikolai never found him because he thought Matt was still locked in the Journal Room  
> Matt put the contract for Nikolai to take on his land in a stack of other incomplete paperwork, putting that stack on top of Nikolai's suitcase in the hopes Nikolai would then do the paperwork  
> Nikolai does the paperwork. When he signs the contract Matt made, he takes on all the land, as well as their histories, hence the flashes and memories.  
> Matt, now mortal, jumps off the clock tower, killing himself.  
> Nikolai realises what happened, finds Matt's body and breaks down.  
> A hundred years later, Matt is sent back from the afterlife to tell Nikolai to get his act together. Or he was a hallucination. Up to you.  
> A hundred years after that, most of the pollutions left by the humans has naturally decreased enough for it to rain. Or it was a higher power. Again, up to you.


	65. Anastasia; 'Resurrection' (Epilogue)

_Nikolai has stopped counting the years. This is far in the future. Plant life grows all around the house and beyond, and the seasons have settled into a rainy spring, warm summer, breezy autumn and merciless winter. Animals often lumber through the plants, and bugs buzz between the plants, slowly carrying pollen all over the world and bringing it back to life._

Nikola doesn't know they're here until they arrive on his doorstep. He can hear them, Russian twittering as four young voices chatter. An older voice shushes them.

"It's meant to be a surprise!" the older voice, female sounding, says, and all four of the younger voices start making shushing noises.

Nikolai throws the door open, and all four children squeal in shock, hiding behind the woman.

"No, no," he mumbles, crouching down to their height. He can sense that one of the group is a nation like him, but they're too close together for them to figure out which one, "I am Nikolai. Russia."

One of the children, a little girl, plucks up the courage to come stand in front of the woman. "Len!" she introduced grandly. Her tunic is green, her face is flat and happy, her hair is long and dark in a ribbon over her shoulder, "I like working hard and doing well!"

"Those are excellent traits," Nikolai tells the little human.

"This my friend Michelle," Len drags the other girl in front of the woman. Michelle is fairy-like in appearance, with dark pigtails and huge eyes, freckles like constellations over her skin.

"I can introduce myself, Len!" Michelle whines. "I'm Michelle, and I like climbing and dancing and listening to stories. Miss Podsolnechnik says you have lots of stories."

"I do, yes," Nikolai nods. Miss Podsolnechnik must be the woman. "I'll tell you a couple later."

"I'm Inuksuk!" one of the boys dives forwards. He is quite feminine in appearance, voice quiet but full of determination. He seems to glow with happiness and innocence, hair dark in a bunch and eyes small and peering, "I like stories too. And I like the sweet orange fruit, and the sweet yellow fruit, and the sweet purple fruit, and…"

Nikolai laughs as Inuksuk continues to list fruits, Len giving him a shove to shut up.

"And what's your name, little one?" he asks the final boy. He's pale, from his skin to his hair to his clothes, his red eyes being the only bright thing about him, shining nervously in his thin face.

"Gilbert," the boy says, clinging to Miss Podsolnechnik's skirts.

"Do you like stories too?"

The boy nods.

"Then why don't we get inside, get some dinner cooked, then I'll tell you some stories, alright!"

All four children cheer, dashing in as soon as Nikolai stands up, Gilbert slightly behind the group.

"And you are Miss Podsolnechnik?" Nikolai asks.

Miss Podsolnechnik is a plain woman, with curly hair and a pleasant smile. Her yellow dress is vaguely reminiscent of the 1920's, soft and floaty and almost ghostly. Her voice is confident, practised, regal.

"Podsolnechnik is my nation name," the woman corrects. "My human name is Anastasia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len is based on Vietnam  
> Michelle is based on Seychelles  
> Inuksuk is based on Canada, Inuksuk being my headcannon Inuit name for him  
> Gilbert is based on Prussia  
> Miss Anastasia Podsolnechnik is based on Anastasia Romanov, and is meant to be an adult version of her
> 
> And with that, Ashes to Dust comes to an end. Thank you for reading~  
> -Laurel Silver


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